


Ghosts of Intent

by kazlynh



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 115,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazlynh/pseuds/kazlynh
Summary: When an intelligence gathering operation is compromised, the Rebel Alliance team are forced to fight their way to safety through an Imperial blockade. Having taken heavy damage, their ship crashes on the planet of Vaaljajord. The local resistance move to help. But with the Lord Darth Vader closing in, the resistance are hard-pressed to hide the Rebel survivors. Leia Organa heads a rescue mission to Vaaljajord, in a desperate attempt to prevent Bren Derlin being delivered to the Emperor, and a severely-injured Luke Skywalker being trapped under Vader's influence... and his intent to rule the galaxy with his son at his side.
Comments: 47
Kudos: 59





	1. Mission Abort + 2 Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [treenahasthaal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/gifts).



_Mission Abort + 2hr_

_14:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

SHERIFF ASHTOR SVIOISAAR, senior law-enforcement officer for Malhördhem and the surrounding area, saved the finished report and sat back. Sighing, she laced her hands together and turned her palms out, lifting her arms above her head and leaning back into a stretch to ease the ache between her shoulder blades.

Her shift had finished a half hour before. A late lunch at Mama Torga's was calling her, but she had stayed on to finish the report.

Ash hated the paperwork, but it was a necessary part of the job: even more so since the Empire had tightened their hold on her homeworld and bureaucracy had increased right across Vaaljajord. Additional paperwork wasn’t so bad, she supposed sourly, not when her fellow law enforcement officers in the cities now had to work alongside Imperial troops. At least she only had to deal with the semi-regular appearance of an officious, Imperial officer demanding an audit.

The Malhördhem office hadn’t had an audit in a while. Ash wasn't willing to take any chances on turning up for duty the next day to find one in progress before she had filed the domestic disturbance report.

It had been out at the Helgassen’s… again. Old man Helgassen had juiced himself up on moonshine, then tried to take a swing at his wife. She’d rapped a ladle off his head for his trouble and locked him in the larder. Then she’d called the Sheriff’s Bureau and asked them to ‘haul his skinny carcas to jail’ until he dried out.

Ash had seen it all before, so she knew that the old man would wake up in the cells with a blinding headache, not remembering a thing. The old woman would refuse to come and get him. He’d tip his hat, apologise for inconveniencing folks, then trudge off on his long walk home… unless one of the Deputies took pity on him and gave him a ride. Markus Fjeldssen was working the afternoon shift, so Ash had a feeling that the old man wouldn’t have to walk.

Dropping her arms, Ash pushed her chair away from the desk. There was a blarberry bake and a large beaker of kaffin waiting for her at Mama Torga's.

A tall, broad, dark-haired Deputy appeared in the office door. Seeing the expression on his face she held up a hand as she got to her feet, telling him, "I'm off duty, Sig!"

"You **were** off duty, Ma'am," Sigurd Arnassen corrected, voice full of empathy. "We’ve got a hot ship coming in. Trajectory puts it hitting the deck about one hundred clicks from here, in the Forest..."

Ash looked at him, and then swore, rubbing a hand across her face. The Forest of Daemor was the biggest revenue source in the area. The summer season and been unusually hot and, although the temperatures had now cooled, the normal wet season rains still hadn't arrived. A ship crashing in the Forest could spark a fire that would wipe out thousands of acres, and devastate both the logging industry and the Daemor syrup harvest in the Spring.

"The Imperials are trying to raise it," Sig was going on, "but it ain’t communicating." He stabbed a thumb towards the holovid in the main office, "Media's already picked it up. Breaking news has it tagged as a Rebel..."

_Rebel_...

Ash's heart lurched and she swore again. "From that skirmish two sectors over?" she asked, opening the top drawer of her desk and pulling out her blaster and holster. _The time frame would fit_...

"That's what they're saying," Sig confirmed.

The Imperials had issued an alert a few hours before, on Rebel ships that had evaded capture during some sort of engagement. They had reported one ship destroyed and two severely damaged. Ash, however, knew how the Imperial propaganda machine worked. She had reasoned that only one Rebel ship had been involved, possible two, and they’d avoided a few pot-shots lobbed at them by a Star Destroyer.

This time it appeared that Imperial reports had been more truth than propaganda.

“Have you alerted the Jumpers?” she asked. The local Fire Jumpers didn’t have anything close to the sort of manpower they’d need to tackle a big blaze. They’d have to pull in Jumpers from across the area, maybe even fire fighters from the city.

“Kaysix is on it,” Sig confirmed.

Ash nodded. The communications droid was the longest serving member of the Sheriff's Bureau. Kaysix had been around long before Ash had earned even her Deputy's pin.

She buckled on her blaster then groaned as she realised that, if it was a Rebel ship, any rescue or fire-fighting endeavours would only be hampered by the rather large boots of whatever Imperial jobs-worth was put in command of the situation. She didn’t relish the thought of Imperial troops swarming all over the place: which they would, as soon as they had a confirmed location of the downed ship.

Arnassen was grinning at her. “I’m guessing you just figured that we’re about to be swamped by our glorious Emperor’s finest?”

Ash shot him a sour look, warning, “You’ll need to check that mouth of yours if we do! I ain’t fixing on breaking-in a new Deputy any time soon! Had me enough problems breaking you in!” she accused, moving towards him.

Sigurd chuckled and stepped aside to let her through the door. Ash paused as she reached him, dropping her voice to a quiet murmur, ordering, “Check who’s able to take survivors. If we get to any of the Rebels before the Imperials arrive, we’ll need somewhere to stash them.”

“I’ll call the Alvessen place, now,” he assured her. He began to turn away. Then he hesitated, turning back. “If they’re Rebel... do you reckon they diverted here because of us?”

Ash sighed. The same thought had crossed her mind. “I hope not,” she told him. “Because if the whole damned Rebellion know about us, it won’t be long before the Imperials do and bust us wide open. Now, go! Call Alvessen!”

Sig nodded, turning away as Ash headed for the main office.

The Alderaan disaster had sparked political protests in the Mørne and Ranveig provinces of Vaaljajord, mainly around the universities. The protests, and the events that followed, had polarised the planet of Vaaljajord’s entire population.

The speed with which the Empire had moved in, and the ruthless ferocity with which they had put a stop to the protests, had surprised and appalled Ash. Others had welcomed it, believing everything they saw on the Imperial-controlled media: maintaining that the students had brought it on themselves, that Alderaan had destroyed itself, that Senator and Princess Organa were traitors and that anyone who defended them was inciting sedition.

Ash had found herself suddenly wary of people she had known all her life. With the planetary Ruling Council abolished, half the Ruling Councillors in Imperial custody, and the Empire firmly in control of Vaaljajord, accusations and counter accusations between neighbours had caused an atmosphere of suspicion and caution. Even in Malhördhem, the friendly, sociable ambience had changed almost overnight.

It had been Per Alvessen who had approached her about the non-cooperation faction. Per’s grandson, Zånder, was one of her Deputies. Zånder's younger sister, Mønaeg, had been at university in Ranveig. She had come home to Malhördhem after the unrest… only to leave again almost immediately.

That’s when Per had come to Ash, judging that he could trust her, risking everything by telling her that Mønaeg had gone to join the Rebel Alliance. Her friend at university, a young woman from Alderaan, had lost her entire family when the planet had been destroyed. She had been too grief-stricken to take part in the protests. The Imperials had come for her anyway, arresting her on charges of Inciting Public Disobedience. When she had panicked and tried to run, Mønaeg had been unable to do anything as stormtroopers gunned her down, leaving her body lying in the university corridor.

"Never held with what happened with the Jedi," Per had told Ash. "Never trusted this new Empire. But it was far away from us, and I paid no particular heed to the goings-on. But something don't sit right about Alderaan. And this business in the cities... well... it just ain't right. And now the Empire's closer than I'm comfortable with. I'm an old man, Ash," he had gone on. "Rebellion don't need me for a fighter, but I can't sit back no more, doing nothing..."

Then he had asked her to simply turn a blind eye to certain goings-on. In the end, Ash had done more than that, getting herself involved far more deeply than she probably should have... but she had seen the Imperial lists and knew that Mønaeg’s friend was only one of an alarming number of dead, missing and wanted.

A week later Sigurd Arnassen had given her reason to place her trust in him when he had walked into her office, put his Deputy’s badge on her desk and echoed her own sentiments by announcing that he could no longer be part of a bureaucracy that ignored due process, tortured people and shot them in the streets.

She’d calmed him down, persuading him not to make too hasty a decision. Then she’d taken him out to the Alvessen's place, where Per had sounded him out before welcoming him into the fold.

Since then, non-cooperation had grown into something more. The trickle of people, who had followed Mønaeg to Rebel lines via the Alvessen place, had become a small stream. The operation had expanded. The Imperial supporters in the area would have been horrified to find out just how many safe-houses Malhördhem had. Places where potential Rebels were vetted before being passed on up the line, or handed over to Ash as Sheriff: who escorted them to the shuttle station with the threat of delivering them to Imperial authorities if she ever saw them in town again.

Now it looked as if they'd have to close everything down for a while. If this ship was Rebel, they'd have more Imperial scrutiny on them than was safe.

Ash reached the main office. Erika Valsaar, another of the Deputies, was looking from the holovid to the datapad in her hand. "What do we have?" Ash asked her.

"We're already streaming info with the Fire Chief at the Jump House. And with the Mayor's office," the Deputy supplied, switching the holovid from the news channel to a map of the area. "On the current flight path, the ship will hit here," she went on as a section of the map turned red, "about fifty clicks inside the Forest. Imperials have been trying to raise it, but they're getting nothing. The garrisons don't appear to be mobilising, though."

"Imperials won't move until they have confirmation of it being Rebel," Ash told her. "Otherwise it's a domestic issue and they'll leave it to us..."

She turned, "Kaysix, call everyone in.” Gunter and Lenya were on down-time. Markus and Zånder weren’t due on duty until later in the day. “And we'll need an exclusion zone set up..."

She took a closer look at the map, bringing up the coordinates at the centre of the red-coloured area. "Best have surface to five thousand feet. And a fifty click radius centred here, just in case it overshoots or goes in early. That'll keep the media and any gawkers out. And send an evacuation order to the foresters within the zone."

"All off-duty Deputies have been alerted, Sheriff Svioisaar," Kaysix confirmed. "The exclusion zone has been submitted. I will alert the foresters now."

"Thanks," Ash acknowledged then instructed, "Anyone calling about the ship, tell them that the situation is in hand. Anyone worried about their trees, point them in the direction of the Mayor's office for the time being. No-one gets into that exclusion zone without the say-so of me or the Fire Chief, understood?" The last thing they needed when trying to deal with the situation and potentially get Rebel survivors to safety, was to run into a worried forester.

"Understood," Kaysix verified.

"Right," Ash went on as Sig walked back into the office, "let's head out. Kaysix, tell the Chief and the Mayor that we're leaving now."

oo0oo

A shower of sparks erupted from the console above Wedge Antilles' head and he yelped, twisting aside to try to avoid the burning cascade. Behind him, Hobbie Klivian threw off his restraints, grabbing an extinguisher and lurched to his feet. Aiming the extinguisher, he sprayed a burst of fire-smothering gas at the console and over Wedge. The ship bucked, pitching Hobbie onto the floor.

An alarm warbled into life and, coughing from the extinguisher fumes, Wedge reaching out to cancel it. "We're losing hull integrity..."

Luke swore, fighting with the controls, trying to keep the transport moving in some semblance of controlled flight. He was losing the battle, however. The ship had taken too much damage. Deep in his gut he knew that the transport wasn't going to survive the descent to the surface.

Still holding the extinguisher, pulling himself back up into his chair, Hobbie winced as another alarm warbled into life. The ship was coming apart around them.

"Number three's going critical!" Wedge warned, cancelling the engine warning chime. "Shutting down."

Luke swore again. They were too close to the ground, going too fast and he barely had control of the ship. They needed that third engine. "Tarn!" he ordered, "Make sure Artoo, Derlin, and his people are strapped in. This is going to be a hard landing..."

"You’re flying!" Tarn Mison quipped, unlocking his restraints, “What’s new?” Lurching to his feet, he headed for the flight deck hatch.

"Wedge, take the ship!" Luke ordered.

Wedge glanced over at him, confirming. "I have control! You got an idea?"

“Maybe…” Luke replied, unlocking the seat restraints. It was taking two people to fly the disintegrating ship... but he also knew that they were fighting a losing battle. He could help. He could use the Force to slow their erratic descent, but he would need his entire focus to do it. "We're not going to make it like this! Hobbie, take the seat!"

Glancing at Wedge then Luke and cursing, Hobbie dropped the extinguisher and tried to stand: only to land back on the floor as the ship veered and rocked. Another alarm warbled into life.

"Damn it!" Wedge announced. "Number two's running hot!"

Luke flipped off the restraints, pushing himself out of the seat.

Crawling the short distance to the pilot’s seat Luke was vacating, Hobbie dragged himself up into it, cancelling the alarm... but another mewled into life. "We've lost the lateral stabilizer..." There was no way they could control the ship now. Hobbie glanced at Wedge. Antilles was fighting the pitch, but he was losing the battle. "We're going down..."

"Not if I can help it!" Luke countered, stumbling as the ship bucked, landing unceremoniously on the floor. Closing his eyes, calming the fear in his chest, he took a long, deep breath. He reached out through the Force; past the tumbling, erratic movement of the transport that left him dizzy and disoriented for a moment... until he sensed the gravity of the planet. He reached for it, holding onto it, letting the ship move around him as he used gravity as an anchor.

He could feel the weight of the ship. The rushing air of the planetary atmosphere pushed at him along the length of the hull. He could feel the skin of the ship beginning to peel away, could sense the stress fractures that crept slowly across the outer hull.

Forcing down the rising dread, he took a slow, deep breath: then another.

He had never attempted anything like this before, but he had no choice. The transport wasn't going to reach the surface in one piece: it was going to break up in mid-air. If he didn't try to slow the ship, everyone on board was going to die. And if Artoo was damaged, the information they’d retrieved from the Imperial facility on Dendraali would be lost.

A memory rose up in his mind: of his T-65 rising slowly out of the waters of the swamp and gliding gracefully through the air.

_I don't believe it..._

_That is why you fail_... _Always with you it cannot be done_... Yoda's voice spoke clearly in his mind. _The Force surrounds us, binds us. Feel the Force around you. Everywhere... even between this land and that ship_...

Between the land and the ship... Between the planet and the ship... The memories strengthened his resolve. _Feel the Force... between this land and that ship..._

_Feel the Force_...

Luke pushed out... The planet's surface was close... too close.... terrifyingly close...

_Anger... fear... The dark side of the Force are they_...

Swallowing, Luke took a long, deep breath, calming his terror. Then he reached out through the Force, through the energy that bound the galaxy together... and pushed against the planet's surface. The ship's tumble began to lessen; the rushing air against the hull began to diminish; the relentless creep of the stress fractures began to slow...

But they were still going too fast...

The Force flowed through him, filling him. He was a conduit between the ship and the planet. He pushed against both, using the planet as a constant fixture to slow the ship and calm the yawing tumble. The movement of the ship around him began to lessen, the rush of the atmosphere slowly decreased. Below him, the dark green of the planet’s surface resolved into dense forest that reached up towards him.

The ship began to glide...

But they were still going too fast. At this speed the impact would be devastating.

Luke drove further into the Force, drawing on it more deeply than he had ever done before... pulling in a breath of wonder as he realised he could sense the luminous energy within the trees. It was almost tactile: vibrant and living. He smiled at the beauty of it, drawing on it, feeling the ship slow even more.

The trees rushed up at him. The ship's fin drove down into them.

_Too fast...._

The impact of the ship's hull against the massive boughs shocked up through Luke. The Force energy slammed into him with paralysing strength. He was aware, briefly, that the ship was breaking up; knew that he was tumbling through the air, but he could do nothing to stop the fall.

The impact of his body against the branches of a tree drove the breath out of his lungs. He crashed down through a bough, then another. Bright, white light exploded in his head. Then darkness swept in.

oo0oo

In the sudden silence that followed the cacophony of tearing metal and cracking wood, Major Bren Derlin heard someone groan. He opened his eyes.

It took him a long moment to understand what he was seeing. The flight deck was gone. Instead, there were bushes and shrubs, the trunk of a huge tree... and the acrid smell of burned metal and melted wiring...

He was still strapped into the seat. The ship had come to rest lying almost on its side, the floor sloping up at a steep angle.

Someone groaned again.

Derlin mentally checked himself over. His shoulder ached where the restraint was digging into it, and he had a feeling that both his shoulder and neck would stiffen up later, but otherwise he appeared uninjured. Twisting around as best he could, he inspected what was left of the Rebel transport. There was an empty seat beside him… Then another empty seat where Tarn Mison should have been...

The pilot had only just sat down to strap in when the ship hit the ground. He’d obviously not had time to lock his restraints into place.

Swearing softly, Derlin looked behind, to where his assault team should have been sitting. There were only two rows of seats behind him, then forest. The cabin had broken in two. Half the team were missing. The five troopers behind him were still strapped into their seats. Raimik, Gelnara and Dune were already trying to undo their restraints. Behind them, Derlin could see Basun moving, but Lien was slumped in her seat.

“Report!” Derlin ordered.

Dune looked at him, flashing him a grin. “I’m okay.” The clip on her restraints popped open and she pushed them back off of his shoulders.

Raimik nodded as he struggled with the clip. Gelnara confirmed, “I’m okay, Major.”

“I’m in one piece, Major,” Basun’s deep baritone rumbled from the row behind.

"How's Lien?" Derlin asked him.

Basun turned, looking at the woman beside him. He checked the pulse on her neck then sighed, "Don’t think she made it."

Raimik turned to look, then climbed over the back of his seat to Lien. There was lethal-looking shard of metal in the side of her skull where part of the collapsed roof must have hit her. He checked her pulse then shook his head, confirming, "She's gone, Major."

Derlin swore softly. "Leave her where she is for the moment," he ordered. "We need to find Mison... and the rest of the ship..."

"Basun," Raimik warned, "you're bleeding. Right shoulder. Let me take a look before you move."

"Be careful!" Derlin ordered. "Everyone be careful!"

Unbuckling his restraints, he shrugged them off, wincing as his shoulder protested the movement. Then, carefully, he slid out of his seat to sit on the floor. Holding onto the leg of the chair with one hand, he inched down the sloping floor to the edge of the cabin. Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way cautiously towards the break in the ship, where the flight deck should have been.

It was an easy jump down onto the forest floor outside, but Derlin hesitated. There were bits of wreckage and branches strewn across the area. He had no idea what he would be jumping into. He could impale himself on debris, or land awkwardly and break his ankle.

"I think we made a mess," Dune commented softly from behind him.

"Yeah," Derlin told her, turning, "Give me hand to climb down there."

Dune took a tight grip of Derlin's offered hand then braced her feet. Standing at the edge of the broken hull, Derlin lowered one foot to the forest floor, keeping the other foot braced against the side of the ship, ignoring the pain from his shoulder. Once he knew he was standing on firm ground, he brought his other leg down. Dune kept a hold of him until she saw he was on a steady footing, then let go.

Derlin turned around, surveying the area. The forest floor was littered with wreckage, some of it smouldering gently. There were huge branches, too, that had obviously been broken off as the ship crashed through the trees. He moved forward, carefully, to see around the massive trunk of the tree that the ship rested against. A few yards away, beneath one of the larger boughs, lay the remains of the front of the ship.

"I can see the flight deck..." Derlin told Dune, turning back to look at her. Gelnara was standing beside her.

"Raimik?" Derlin called. "How's Basun doing?"

"Deep gash in his shoulder," the sergeant called back. "I'm trying to stop the bleeding..."

Derlin considered that then ordered, "Stay with him while we check the flight deck!"

"Copied, Major!" Raimik confirmed.

“Any sign of Artoo?” Derlin asked.

“No,” Gelnara confirmed.

Derlin swore, softly. Artoo was the most important part of the team. The information he had downloaded in the Dendraali facility was crucial. “Okay, let’s search.” He helped Dune then Gelnara climb to the ground. Cautiously, the three Rebels clambered their way across branches and wreckage towards the remains of the flight deck.

Dune followed Derlin over a branch then hesitated as something caught her attention. "Major!" she called, taking a closer look at the forest floor. There was hint of grey beneath the gold and brown leaves. Together, the three soldiers manoeuvred the branch out of the way.

On the forest floor, Tarn Mison lay on his side, broken and bloodied. Derlin dropped into a crouch beside the pilot knowing that he wasn't going to find a pulse and, even if by some miracle the pilot was still alive, they didn't have the medical equipment or knowledge to help him.

Mison was still warm, but there was no sign of life beneath Derlin's fingers. Saying nothing, simply shaking his head to confirm that the pilot was dead, Derlin stood up.

How many others had they lost in the crash? Were the rest of the strike team, and the other pilots, also dead?

He turned around, looking over at the wreckage of the flight deck. The damage was screened by the gold-brown leaves of the huge branch lying across it. "Skywalker?" Derlin shouted, starting towards it again. "Antilles? Artoo?"

A muffled shout spurred all three soldiers on. A head appeared through the leaves. Derlin recognised the dark hair of the pilot. Antilles...

"Major," Wedge told him. "I need help in here. Hobbie's trapped..."

"Are _you_ okay?" Derlin asked, reaching him. The pilot's face was scratched but Derlin couldn’t see the rest of him because of the tree branch.

"I'm fine," Wedge assured him, "but Hobbie's legs are trapped. I can't get him out."

"What about Skywalker?"

"Not here," Wedge told him, grimly. "Just Hobbie..."

_Then where was Skywalker?_

"Dune,” Derlin ordered, "you're with me. Gelnara see if you can…"

He trailed off, looking around as the soft, wailing buzz of an engine filtered through the trees.

"Landspeeder?" Dune ventured.

"More likely a speeder bike,” Gelnara offered, “Easier to get through the trees…”

“Whatever it is,” Derlin put in, “it's heading this way..."

Half his strike team were missing. Hobbie was trapped in the wreckage. Derlin knew he could order Dune, Gelnara and the others to simply break and run: hide in the forest… but he had no intention of leaving Hobbie behind. They’d been forced to leave people behind on Hoth. Derlin had sworn, then, that he would never do it again. More than that, they had no supplies, limited weaponry and no way of communicating with any other survivors, or the Alliance.

Taking a deep breath, Derlin let it out slowly. "Let's just hope they're friendly..."

Dune drew her blaster from her holster. “You should make yourself scarce, Major. We’ve got this.”

“No,” Derlin told her. “But both of you take cover. If they’re not friendly, you have to find Artoo and get him back to Alliance Command.”


	2. Mission Abort + 2.5 Hours

_Mission Abort + 2.5 hrs_

_14:30 - Malhördhem Local Time_

ASH CLIMBED OUT OF THE SPEEDER as Sigurd pulled in behind her. Beside them, Fire Chief Ulafssen negotiated his speeder further into the trees. A second, much larger Jumper vehicle followed, cautiously. They had, ostensibly, left Deputy Erika Valsaar stationed at the edge of the forest as a guide for the rescuers who were following. There had been another, more important reason, however. Right now, Ash and Ulafssen knew that every Jumper and law officer here, was Rebellion-sympathetic. Valsaar, Ash wasn’t sure about.

Small wisps of smoke curled up from the wreckage, but nothing had sparked a fire. There was a light, acrid smell: burned metal and melted wiring...

The wreckage appeared silent and Ash walked slowly towards it. The ship had punched a clearing into the tree canopy, giving brighter lighting to this area than the rest of the forest. Ahead of her there were two, readily-identifiable but badly damaged sections of the ship: the mid-section and front. The tail of the ship had come down a few clicks further back and another team of Fire Jumpers had headed there.

Carbon scoring traced across what was left of the hull: proof that the ship had seen recent action. Deep down, Ash knew that this was the Rebel ship the Empire was searching for. She pulled out her comlink. "Kaysix, this is Sheriff Svioisaar. We've located the main crash site. Part of the cabin section and the flight deck are here. There's no sign of survivors. I'll give you another update as soon as I can."

"Copied and logged, Sheriff," the droid answered.

Tucking the comlink back into a pocket, she waited for Chief Ulafssen to catch up with her. Then, together with Sigurd, they moved forward. Behind them, Ulafssen's Jumpers were already unloading kit.

Movement drew her attention. A man in a tight-fitting, grey jumpsuit walked slowly towards them.

"Are you injured, friend?" Ulafssen shouted.

"I'm okay," the man shouted back, "but we have wounded and dead..."

"Are you the ranking officer?" Ash called.

"Ranking officer?" the man replied, "You mean on the ship? No... I... was one of the passengers… I’m not sure who the Captain was. We never met him…"

They reached him and Ash quirked an eyebrow, giving him a good look-over. His grey jumpsuit smacked of military issue. Together with the carbon scoring on the hull, it reinforced Ash's deduction that this man was Rebel Alliance and, as the Empire would mobilise the minute she confirmed they were Rebel, she didn't have time to play games.

Fixing the man with a flat, no-nonsense look, she warned, "Let's set aside the deception. Your ship; the carbon scoring; your uniform... You're Rebel Alliance," she accused, "probably the Rebels the Imperials are looking for following the altercation two sectors over..."

Knowing that he’d lost any chance of bluffing his way out of this, Derlin said nothing, trying to gauge exactly how much trouble he and the others were in.

"You're in Imperial territory," the woman was continuing, "so I could be about to sign my death notice by telling you that, right now, you're among friends. But I need a concise situation report so that we can lend you aid, because the folks following us might not be so friendly..."

The tight apprehension in Derlin's chest released a little. He took a deep breath as the woman finished, "Do we have an accord?"

Derlin nodding, telling her, "I hear what you’re saying..."

"Good," Ash told him, "So, are you the ranking officer?"

"I am," he confirmed, introducing himself, "Major Derlin. We have one dead soldier in the main section," he supplied, "one injured, receiving medical attention. We have one dead between the wreckage, and a pilot trapped in the flight deck."

Ulafssen whistled for one of his Jumpers, heading past Derlin towards the wreckage as the Rebel Major went on, "I'm missing another pilot, an Artoo unit and five soldiers who were in the tail section..."

Ash processed the information Derlin had just given her and began formulating a plan of action. Two Jumpers moved past them, following Ulafssen.

Pulling face coverings from her leg pocket, she handed them to Derlin. “You need to put these on. I’ll explain later,” she finished as he started to protest. “Just hand them out to your people.” Pulling her comlink back out, Ash asked, "Zånder, how far out are you?"

"About thirty clicks, Sheriff," a voice confirmed as Derlin turned, walking towards the wreckage.

"There's a break in the tree canopy where the ship has come down," Ash supplied. "Bring the skiff in over the top. Scan the area for life-signs."

"Copied, Sheriff," he confirmed. "I've got your location locked."

Ash turned following Derlin, Sig at her side. Two other Rebel soldiers appeared from the trees. Another two were sitting on the edge of the broken ship. She gave them all a reassuring smile as Derlin passed out the face protection.

"I'm Ash Svioisaar, local Sheriff. That there," she went on, pointing across to Ulafssen with her thumb, "is our Fire Chief. This here,” she went on, indicating Sig, “is my Deputy. There's another Jumper team heading for the tail section. It landed just a ways over. And there’s a skiff coming in over the top to look for your missing pilot. We'll have some information for you soon... Now, Major, can your injured soldier be moved?" she finished.

Derlin looked up at Basun and Raimik sitting at the edge of the ship. Raimik nodded.

“He can,” Derlin supplied.

"Good," Ash decided. "Then leave your dead soldier in the ship for the moment." Her words were blunt, but her tone was gentle. She paused, then continued, "We need to move your other fatality towards the flight deck, make it look like they were pulled out of there. Can I lend you some assistance? Or do you have it covered?"

The Rebels would have been run through the mill in the previous few hours. Now, on top of dealing with their wounded, she was asking them to confront their dead. Different folks had different beliefs about those who had passed on. She knew this might be something they’d want to handle themselves.

"I..." Derlin began. His hands had begun to tremble. He tightened them into fists. He was still wary, but the Sheriff had stamped her authority on the situation. She knew where the rest of his strike team were and had sent help. She, and the people with her, would have ways of finding Skywalker and his droid.

He took a deep breath. "We've got it covered, Ma'am..."

Ash nodded, acknowledging, “Good… but if you need help, we’ll be here.”

She turned, walking back towards her speeder, Sig following her. "Set up a perimeter. If anyone else arrives," she told him, “don't let them in. Not yet. The fewer unknown faces these folk have to deal with, right now, the better."

"I’ll keep them back, Sheriff," he assured her.

oo0oo

Ulaf finished his inspection of the outside of the broken flight deck. He turned, crossing over to the Rebel senior officer. “Sir,” he asked, “How many inside the flight deck?"

"Two,” the man supplied. “One is trapped."

“What are their names?”

Derlin hesitated for a moment. Then grudgingly, he supplied, “Hobbie’s trapped. Wedge is with him.”

"Hobbie and Wedge," Ulafssen repeated. "Got it."

He turned, heading back to the flight deck. Settling a protective mask over his nose and mouth, he began to climb through the branches of the fallen tree, making his way into the ship.

Wedge looked around. Standing up, he watched the stranger warily, readying himself to fight if he had to.

"Wedge?" the man asked, his voice muffled slightly by the mask he was wearing. Wedge nodded, still wary, but confirming, "That's me."

"You’re in safe hands, son,” the newcomer told him before continuing, “The Sheriff is with your Major: said Hobbie was trapped in here. You injured?"

"No," Wedge confirmed, "but the flight console is buckled. Hobbie’s legs are trapped…"

Ulaf manoeuvred past Wedge and crouched down beside the blond man who lay on his side on the floor, still strapped into his seat. The chair had been ripped free of the floor. It was wedged under the twisted console. The console was pinned down under the ruined hull of the ship. "Hobbie? Can you hear me?"

The blond pilot groaned softly then confirmed, "Yeah..."

Pulling a medical scanner from a sleeve pocket, Ulaf ran it across him. The Rebel's blood pressure was lowered... and slowly falling. There didn't appear to be any internal injuries or bleeding. With the tangle of metal lying on his legs, though, Ulaf couldn't get any accurate readings.

Chewing on the inside of his lip, he inspected the tangled metal, knowing that the pressure of the wreckage on the pilot's legs might be the only thing stopping him bleeding out. "Are you in pain, son?" Ulaf asked.

Hobbie nodded, telling him, "My legs... My back..."

Ulaf ran the medscanner again. There was tearing in the muscles of the pilot's lower back, but the spine appeared to be undamaged. Ulaf wasn't prepared to take any chances, though. Tucking the medscanner back into his pocket, he began, "Son, we're going to get you out of here, but I ain't letting anyone move you until we get your spine immobilised and some pain meds in you. Then we're going to have to cut you out. It ain't going to be a quick process, but someone will be right here with you all the time, got it?"

"Got it," Hobbie confirmed. He moaned as the pain in his leg intensified then subsided. Ulafssen dropped a gentle, reassuring hand onto his shoulder before turning to Antilles. "We can take it from here, son," he told him. He pulled another mask from his leg pocket, holding it out. "Put this on. Derlin's waiting for you outside."

Reluctant to leave Hobbie, Wedge hesitated.

Quirking an eyebrow, Ulaf asked, "Do I need your Major to make that an order?"

"No, Sir," Wedge assured him, taking the mask. Putting it on, he turned and began to climb through the tree branches and out of the wreckage. Pulling a comlink from his pocket, Ulaf turned back to Hobbie. "Incident Commander from Fire Chief!"

The comlink crackled, "Incident Commander, go ahead."

"We have one trapped in the flight deck," Ulafssen reported, "We'll need slicers, body-bracing, heat sheeting, medi-kit."

"Copied, Chief," the commander's voice told him, "I'll bring in the works."

"Chief?" a voice asked from above.

Ulaf looked up. One of the Jumpers had clambered up onto the roof and was looking down into the flight deck.

"Flight console is buckled and pinned down by the bulkhead," Ulafssen told him. "Pilot’s legs are trapped under it. We'll need to take off part of this side of the ship," he went on, pointing out an area, "for access. I don't want him left alone. Get yourself in here..."

oo0oo

Deputy Zånder Olgenssen brought the skiff into a hover over the break in the tree canopy. Turning all the sensor indications towards the ground, he began to scan the area in slow, methodical sweeps, discounting the sensor returns one by one.

Then he paused as a return caught his attention. He ran another scan over the area, repeating it a third time, just to be sure, before manoeuvring the skiff directly over what the sensor reading was indicating. "Sheriff, this is Olgenssen."

Ash turned, looking up at the skiff, "Zånder, what do you have?"

"Lifesigns right below me," the Deputy supplied, "caught in the tree about half way up. There's other indications below it... Might be a droid..."

"Stay where you are," Ash told him. "Monitor the lifesigns. I'll get the Chief..."

"I heard," Ulafssen's voice answered over the comlink. "Jumpers are on the way."

Lifesigns were a good thing. It meant the missing pilot was still alive.

Ash took a deep breath, surveying the crash site again. Too much time had elapsed since she'd made her initial report to Kaysix, though. She couldn't delay any longer without causing suspicion. The other Deputies and Jumper teams were standing-by to come into the area. And there were fire fighters from other areas ready to move if they were needed. They’d all be getting twitchy at the lack of information. If she waited any longer, she risked other teams making their way in, simply because there had been no communication from the crash site.

Letting the breath out in a long sigh, she pulled out her comlink. "Kaysix, this is Sheriff Svioisaar."

"Go ahead, Sheriff," the droid’s voice confirmed.

"Sit Rep,” Ash began, doing another visual scan of the area. “Incident under control. Chief Ulafssen reports no sign of primary or secondary fires within the forest. Fatalities are being removed from the wreckage and surrounding area... Keep Jumpers on standby, but stand down all other reserve support." She turned, looking at Derlin and his people. "Inform the Imperial authorities that the ship may match the one they're looking for. Fatalities appear to be wearing Rebel Alliance uniform..."

"Copied and logged, Sheriff," Kaysix told her.

The Rebels couldn't be allowed to stay here now. Ash made her way across to where Derlin and his people sat, waiting. The Major climbed to his feet as she reached them.

"I think we might have found your missing pilot," Ash told him. "And possibly your droid."

Derlin breathed out in relief. If Artoo was intact, the mission hadn’t been a complete failure. The news was a spark of hope. The rear section of the ship had been found, but none of the strike team had survived. With the Deputy's skiff hovering overhead and time dragging on, Derlin had begun to give up on the prospect of finding Skywalker alive, or of finding Artoo. Now, however, the situation didn't seem so bleak. As long as Artoo wasn't damaged, the mission would have cost them, but it wouldn't be a failure...

"You've found Luke?" Wedge asked, climbing to his feet.

"We've found life signs," Ash confirmed. "Our people are already on the way."

Wedge smiled, giving a small sigh that ended with him coughing softly.

Ash frowned.

Antilles had been in the flight deck. Ulafssen had given him a mask. But the flight deck had been split open to the trees, and covered by fallen branches.

The trees lived in a symbiotic relationship with a micro-fungus that clung to the bark and leaves. It was what gave Daemor syrup the tangy, sweet flavour that set it aside from other bark syrups. The spores from the fungus, however, could be dangerous. They could infest the lungs and get into the blood. Adults living in the Daemor forest area were all-but immune to the effects, having breathed in traces of the fungus all their lives... but children and non-locals were susceptible. There were times, especially when the fungus was sporing, when children were banned from coming into the forest. With the trees disturbed, here, all of the Jumpers were wearing masks, as were she and Sig. Antilles' soft, dry cough could be the first sign of infestation.

Swearing silently, Ash shouted for Sig before turning her attention back to Derlin. "Your people are being recovered," she told him. "We need to get you out of here, to safety."

"Hobbie," Derlin began, determined not to leave his people behind.

"Is in the care of one of the best men I know," Ash interrupted.

"But Luke..." Derlin tried again.

"Major," Ash countered, "I stalled for as long as I could, but the Imperials are on their way. We need to get you and your people to safety."

Cold, heard dread settled in Derlin's stomach. Luke might be being rescued, but Hobbie was trapped under a tangle of wreckage. It was going to take time to get him out. "If the Imperials get here before..." he began.

Ash stepped towards him, taking control, knowing that she didn’t have time for Derlin to argue with her. Voice low and dangerously quiet she warned, "Your continued presence here puts MY people at risk, Major! If we meant to let any of you fall into Imperial hands, we'd have called it in the minute we arrived. So, you WILL get your people together and you WILL go with Deputy Arnassen. Am I making myself clear?"

Wedge almost took a step back in the face of the Sheriff’s sudden change from amiable jurisdiction to intimidating authority. Swallowing, coughing on a dry throat, he looked at Derlin. Beside him, Dune had risen slowly to her feet, Raimik following.

Derlin blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as the Sheriff quirked an eyebrow, daring him to defy her. He was left in no doubt that, should he not give-in gracefully, the Sheriff would have no qualms about restraining him and bodily removing him. Derlin took a deep breath, retreating a half step, confirming, "Yes, Ma'am. I hear you loud and clear.” He sensed, rather than saw, Dune and Raimik relax.

Ash looked at all the Rebel soldiers. Then she laughed softly, her tension evaporating. "Less of the Ma'am..." she told him. “I’m only a Sheriff…”

Derlin smiled back beneath the mask. Then he sobered, his attention already being drawn back to the reason they were in this mess. “I have one more request to make of you, Sheriff."

Ash quirked an eyebrow, again, and looked at him warily, “What do you need?"

"The mission…" Derlin confided. "Our Artoo unit is carrying vital information.."

"Understood, Major," Ash told him. "I'll make sure that the droid is delivered to you or kept safe."

She glanced at Antilles again then turned her attention to Sig, as the Deputy reached them. "We need to get them out of here."

"Copied," he told her. “We have a safe house.”

She nodded, warning him, "Deliver them, then come back here. Be careful. The Imperials will be on their way."

"Copied, Sheriff." He turned to Rebels, "This way, please, people."

oo0oo

Colonel Marek Vyre looked up as his aide walked into the office. "Sir," Vence told him, "We've had confirmation from the Malhördhem Sheriff's office. Fatalities have been removed from the crashed ship. They're wearing Rebel uniform, Sir..." He paused and then asked, "Should I log the confirmation?"

Vyre considered the question. The alert had been issued a few hours before. A small strike-force of Rebels had compromised an Imperial facility on Dendraali. Their mission had apparently been thwarted and their ship had taken heavy fire during their escape. The initial alert had subsequently been upgraded by the Lord Darth Vader, however. No reasons had been given, but Vyre had been an ISB officer long enough to realise that there was more to this than a failed Rebel mission.

Either the Rebels had not been completely unsuccessful or there were operatives within the Rebel strike force that Vader, and therefore the Emperor, were determined to locate.

The higher level of alert was also going to draw the attention of bounty hunters. Unlike Lord Vader, Vyre didn't relish the idea of bounty hunters working in his jurisdiction. They were difficult, undisciplined and untrustworthy. The Malhördhem Sheriff had set up an exclusion zone, but that would mean nothing to bounty hunters. There were probably a number of them already on their way, and the moment the crashed ship was logged as Rebel, Vader's full attention would also be on Malhördhem.

Vyre knew Vader's reputation. More than one officer had lost their status by being too eager in their duties where Lord Vader was concerned. Admiral Kendal Ozzel was an ideal example. Vyre wasn't going to risk sending any confirmation until he had personally surveyed the scene and seen the bodies for himself.

"No," he told Vence, pushing himself to his feet, "Alert Lieutenant Kedris and have my landspeeder brought around. I will investigate the crash site, personally, before anything is logged." He paused, then asked, "Has our request for more information been answered?"

"Not yet, Sir," Vence confirmed, checking his datapad, "I'll have any information streamed to you as soon as it arrives."

Vyre nodded, moving around the desk. "Who is the Malhördhem Sheriff?" he asked.

Vence handed over a datapad of information. "Ashtor Svioisaar, Sir."

"Svioisaar," Vyre repeated, heading for the door. "Well, then, I suppose we should show a little courtesy. Inform Sheriff Svioisaar that I'm on my way," he ordered. "And have a company of stormtroopers accompany us to the crash site. If this is a Rebel ship, the area will require to be properly secured."

oo0oo

On the top of the wrecked flight deck, Chief Ulafssen looked down through the break in the hull. One of his Jumpers was inside with the trapped Rebel pilot. The pilot had been covered with two, large pieces of heat-shield sheeting. Only Hobbie's head was visible. The Jumper sat down on the floor beside him, reaching across to grasp the sheets, ready to pull them completely over both of them.

"You ready, son?"

"Ready, Chief!" the Jumper confirmed, lying down and pulling the sheets over to cover them. "Might get a little toasty," he warned Hobbie.

The pilot rolled his eyes, quipping, "Survive the crash, only to get roasted."

Ulafssen clambered down off the ship, turning to the Jumpers outside. "They're covered. Take it slow. We can't risk the side of the ship falling in on them."

"Copied, Chief," they assured him. He watched as they climbed onto the hastily-erected platform, ignited the slicer and slowly began to cut through the metal.

Ulafssen turned, acknowledging Ash with a nod as she moved to stand beside him. "Heard your report," he told her. "We're taking off the side of the ship before trying to release the pilot’s legs... but it could be tricky."

"We've got more problems," Ash warned. "We need a medic."

"I know," Ulafssen agreed, keeping his attention on the Jumpers. "Hobbie's blood pressure is still dropping. We've got a line in him, but I'm worried about what'll happen when we get his legs free... It might only be the weight of the wreckage that's stopping him bleeding out. And they've located the other pilot in the trees. They're bringing him down but he has internal injuries..." He glanced at Ash. "That's beyond our medical skills and the medroids we have..."

Ash nodded, then supplied, "Wedge is coughing..."

Ulafssen swore. "He had to climb through the leaves to get out... I gave him a mask, but that flight deck is wide open. He could have taken a lungful of spores..." He looked at Ash. "We should approach Tarja, bring her in..."

The Sheriff shook her head. "Alvessen will never allow it. You know that he thinks. Tarja's been through enough."

"Then we have to take them into the city," the Chief concluded, "which will be on alert now that the ship's been confirmed as Rebel. And if Hobbie does have a bleeder under that wreckage, we may not get him there in time..."

Ash sighed, telling him, "I know..."

They weren't set up for this sort of thing. Being part of an underground transport link to Rebel Alliance lines was one thing, but none of them had ever anticipated having to cut injured Rebel personnel out of crashed ships.

Sigurd's words came back to her. _Do you think they’ve come here because of us?_

Ash swore. She had meant to ask Derlin why he'd brought the ship here, but in the ensuing rescue it had slipped her mind. Her comlink chimed and she answered it, "Svoiosaar."

"Sheriff, compliments of Colonel Marek Vyre," Kaysix offered. "He is on-route to the crash site and orders that you do not remove any bodies from the area until he has confirmed Rebel identity and surveyed the scene."

Ash rolled her eyes. _And so it begins._ "Assure Colonel Vyre that we've released the dead from the wreckage but not from the area. Tell him we look forward to his arrival."

 _Like a hole in the head_.

"Ulaf," she went on, turning to the Fire Chief, "we're out of time. We've got an hour at most..."

Face grim, he nodded. "We'll do what we can... but it's in the hands of the Gods...."

Ash laid a hand on his shoulder then turned, looking towards the area where the skiff still hovered. Beneath it, two Jumpers guided a gravsled to the ground. Ash made her way across to them, reaching them just as they laid the sled on the ground. A young, blond Rebel was strapped into it. He lay silent and unmoving. The clean, white mask covering his nose and mouth seemed terribly bright against the grime of his uniform and the dried blood on his face.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Bust ribs," the female Jumper offered, "ruptured spleen, bruising to the kidneys, internal bleeding… but we've got a line in and his blood pressure isn't dropping too fast..." She looked at Ash, "Considering the branches he must have hit on the way down, he's in pretty good shape."

"Was he unconscious when you found him?" Ash asked.

"Barely," the Jumper confirmed.

"Okay," Ash acknowledged, looking back down at the blond Rebel. He looked so young. Too young. What terrors had he gone through as they evaded the Empire... only to end up unconscious and injured amongst people he didn't know?

A low, soft, electronic mewl pulled her attention away from the Rebel, back to the tree. Frowning, she moved towards it, walking around the huge trunk to the other side. A small, white droid turned its dome to look at her. Ash smiled, dropping to a crouch. "Well... hello. You must be the Artoo unit Major Derlin is looking for."

The unit burbled softly and Ash could have sworn it was asking, "He is?"

She chose to believe that it was, and nodded. "He reckons you're quite important. You should go with the Jumpers just around the other side of the tree. They're taking one of your pilots to Derlin too..."

The Artoo unit burbled, twisting its dome back and forth. Ash grinned and stood up, making her way back around the tree trunk, the droid following.

"We need to get them both out of here," she told the Jumpers. "The Imperials are on their way."

They both swore.

"Take them to the Alvessen place," Ash told them. "The Old Man's had the heads up. Use my speeder," she went on. "You'll be there and back by the time the Empire get here."

She stepped aside, moving out of their way as they lifted the stretcher from the gravsled and carefully carried the Rebel across to the speeder, the droid following them.

Looking across at the wrecked flight deck, Ash sighed and rubbed a hand across her face. Ulaf was right. The injured Rebels were beyond any medical help the Jumpers could give. They were far beyond anything she knew. There was only one person who could help them: Tarja Karsaar, Malhördhem's medical specialist.

Tarja had been caught up in the riots in Ranveig, however. She had been arrested and tortured, along with many of the other students who had demonstrated. Her fiancé had died. The fun-loving girl with the ready smiled who had left to pursue her dream, had not been the same woman who had returned to Malhördhem. She rarely smiled, she rarely spoke outside of her consultations.

When it had been suggested a few months before that Tarja be recruited into the non-cooperation faction, Per Alvessen had refused to hear of it. "She has been through enough!" he had told them. "I will not burden her with anything more!"

Despite his best intentions, however, circumstances had changed. Ash sighed again, heading back towards the wrecked flight deck. Perhaps Per would see that when the Jumpers carried the injured pilots into his house. Perhaps, then, he would change his mind.

If not, they might have saved Hobbie, Wedge and Luke... only to watch them die.


	3. Mission Abort + 4hrs

_Mission Abort + 4hrs_

_16:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

A GENTLE THRUM intruded slowly into the darkness, drawing him back into awareness. He tried to open his eyes but, exhausted, it was too much of an effort... So he simply lay, listening, lulled by the gentle thrum and the soft breeze on his face.

He was going to have to move soon. Uncle Owen wouldn't let him...

An image reared up: of smoke, and sand, and charred bones. The breath caught in his throat, the memory slamming at him. Grief and anger curled in his chest as he remembered they were dead. Beru... Owen... His family...

_I am your Father..._

Luke dragged in a deep breath to scream denial... but it clogged in his lungs, barking out in a coughing fit that stabbed agony through his chest. The agony expanded, ripping through him with each cough.

Per Alvessen moved as quickly as he could down the steps of the porch towards the speeder. He recognised the two Jumpers: Saafi and Ulrik. He reached them as Saafi gently withdrew a hypodermic from the injured Rebel's arm and the boy relaxed against the stretcher.

"What happened?" Per asked her.

"He's bleeding internally and his ribs are bust," she offered. "I didn't want the coughing to do more damage. I've given him a light sedative."

Per took that in, glancing at the Artoo unit sitting in the back beside the stretcher, before looking down at the Rebel, again. "Who's his little friend?"

"Sheriff didn't say," Ulrik supplied as Per reached out, laying a gentle hand on the Rebel boy’s head. "She just asked us to bring it along..."

The Rebel was filthy, dried blood crusted around cuts on his face. Bruising was beginning to form, black and mottled. Per lifted his hand away. "Take him into the house," he told them. "I've cleared the kitchen table." He turned to the droid, stepping back to let the jumpers lift the stretcher. "You had better come along too, little one."

Per followed the jumpers as they carried the Rebel up the steps and into the house. He glanced back, to make sure that the droid was following. It trundled dutifully after them.

Derlin had seen the speeder arrive and was waiting in the hallway for them. Wedge stood behind Derlin, anxiety crawling through his stomach. He started towards the stretcher as the Jumpers carried it through the door. "Luke?"

"Let them through, son," Per instructed. The Jumpers turned towards the kitchen.

Derlin caught Antilles’ arm, drawing him back, telling him, "Let them work, Wedge."

"But…" Antilles began.

"Let them work!" Derlin ordered. "Go sit down."

Dune appeared behind the pilot, gently grasping his other elbow. “Derlin’s got a point, Wedge.”

For a moment, Derlin thought the pilot was going to push that point. Instead, however, he sighed, shoulders drooping. Coughing softly, he turned and walked back with Dune to sit with the others. Derlin rubbed absently at the growing ache in his shoulder, then turned back towards the hall area.

Skywalker's artoo unit trundled in through the door. Derlin smiled. Walking across to him, he crouched down, resting his hand on the droid's dome. "Good to see you, Artoo. Are you damaged?"

Artoo burbled a negative, turning his dome left and right before rolling away from the Major to follow the Jumpers into the kitchen. Derlin rose to his feet, knowing better than to try to stop the little droid. Artoo's devotion to Skywalker was becoming the stuff of legend amongst those who knew Luke well. Since losing his hand at Bespin, it seemed that everywhere Luke went, his Artoo unit was right behind him. Now appeared to be no exception.

Derlin moved across the hall, lingered just outside the door of the kitchen.

"We've got medpaks in the speeder for you," Saafi told Per. "I'll fetch them."

"Thank you," the old man acknowledged as she turned, heading out past Derlin. Looking at Ulrik, Per clarified, "You said he had internal bleeding?"

Derlin listened, apprehension curling through his gut as the Jumper nodded, supplying, "Ruptured spleen and bruising to the kidneys. We got a line in him, so his blood pressure is holding for the moment. There's no damage to his spine but there's evidence of strain in the ligaments and muscles, not surprising considering how many branches he must have hit on the way down. He has three cracked ribs, one broken, but we've stabilised them..."

Ulrik paused, looking at Alvessen. "He probably took a good lungful of spores, too..."

Per sighed softly, looking down at the young Rebel lying on the kitchen table. Internal bleeding was serious. They may have stabilised his blood pressure, but simply giving him more blood wasn't the answer. The bleeding had to be stopped. And that required more medical knowledge than Per had. Then there was the possibility of Spore Lung. One of the other Rebel boys was already showing signs of it.

Frowning, Per gnawed on the inside of his lip in contemplation for a moment, before asking, "The Deputy said there was another pilot trapped in the wreckage?"

Ulrik nodded. "When we left, they were taking the side off the ship to cut him out."

"Do we know what his injuries are?" Per asked, dreading the answer.

"I don't know..." Ulrik admitted. He reached into his pocket for his comlink, asking, "But I'll find out..."

"No," Alvessen told him, quickly. "No. The Imperials will be monitoring the frequencies. We don’t want them overhearing...."

"It's fine," the young man assured him. "I can stream it on the Jumper grid rather than voice-call it." He slid back a panel on the comlink and began typing. "Might take a minute or two with the guys being busy..."

A noise from the hall told him that Saafi was coming back in through the front door with the medpaks. "Where do you want these, Per?"

Alvessen turned, "Leave them in the hall for the moment..."

"Do you know how to put a line in, Per?" she asked, putting the medpaks on the floor.

Alvessen smiled indulgently, assuring her, "Basic medical aid, young miss. I surely do."

Per knew, however, that basic medical aid wasn't going to help the boy currently lying on his kitchen table, or the Rebel still trapped in the wreckage of the ship. Saafi had flushed slightly, in embarrassment, and was giving Per a bashful grin. The comlink buzzed in Ulrik’s hand. "No internal injures" he read, "but he's bleeding somewhere, most likely his legs. They won't be able to tell more until they lift the metal off..."

"Is he conscious?” Derlin asked. “Did he tell you about the prosthetics?”

Ulrik looked at the Major. “Huh?"

"Hobbie's right leg," Derlin supplied, "the lower half is prosthetic... as is his lower left arm. Battle wounds," Derlin concluded.

Ulrik looked at him, whistled softly in respect, and then typed it into the comlink, repeating, "Lower right leg, lower left arm?"

"Yes," Derlin confirmed.

"Anything else we need to know?" Ulrik asked.

Derlin shook his head, "Not about Hobbie, no..."

"If you have all the information you need," Per interrupted, looking from one Jumper to the other, "you should leave..."

Derlin looked at Alvessen in surprise. _Leave...?_

He opened his mouth to protest, then quickly shut it again. These people had done more than enough. Without them, neither Luke nor Artoo would have been found. Without them, Hobbie would be helplessly trapped, probably dying, in the wreckage of the ship. These people were the only good thing to happen in a mission that had gone sour almost from the beginning.

"Take the speeder back to the Sheriff," Alvessen was continuing, "Tell her I will be in touch, and that the door is always open."

The Jumpers nodded and headed for the door. Derlin moved into the kitchen as they left, unbuckling his blaster holster. "Forgive me," he began, "but... you have only basic medical training?"

Per looked at him, nodding. "I do, son, I'm sorry to say."

"Raimik! Dune! Gelnara!" Derlin shouted before turning his attention back to Alvessen. “We have field training. We can help him."

Relief flooding through him at Derlin’s words, Per assured him, "My home is yours. Tell me what you need."

"Pillows or blankets," Derlin began. "And maybe some impermeable sheeting..."

"That I can do for you," Per told him.

"You called, Major?" Dune asked, appearing at the door, moving aside to let their host past her.

"Break open one of those Paks," he ordered. "Bring us the medscanners," he went on, handing his blaster and belt over to Gelnara. "Raimik, give him your sidearm... I need your help with Skywalker."

The sergeant unbuckled his blaster belt, looking across at the blond pilot, asking, "How bad is he?"

"Could be worse," Derlin supplied, taking off his lightweight, body armour. "The Jumpers said they'd stabilised broken ribs. We'll have a look, then we need to turn him on his side. Ruptured spleen. We need to get the bleeding stopped before we do anything else. Gelnara," he went on, "keep Antilles and the droid out of the way... Wait!" he contradicted as the soldier turned away.

Gelnara turned back. "Dune, give him a medscanner," Derlin ordered. "Give Antilles the once-over," he told Gelnara. "That cough of his didn't worry me until one of the Jumpers mentioned something about a lungful of spores."

The corporal frowned, "Spores? From where? Do you think we're all infected?"

"Possibly," Derlin admitted, "but Wedge is the only one coughing. I'll ask Alvessen about it once we've dealt with Luke."

"Copied, Major," Gelnara acknowledged, taking the blasters and belts and disappearing.

Raimik shrugged off the body armour as Dune appeared back in the kitchen door, holding a medscanner. She moved across to Skywalker, running the scanner slowly across him. The machine beeped for a moment, then dropped data onto the screen. “Just as you said, Major… but there’s something else,” she finished, handing the scanner across to him. Derlin read the information, frowning. There was some sort of congestion forming in Skywalker's lungs.

Raimik moved to the other side of the table, unclipping the restraints that held Skywalker in place on the stretcher.

“Dune,” Derlin ordered, “we need the sterile sprays."

She disappeared into the hall, then returned with the whole medpak, placing it one of the kitchen counters. Beginning to lay it all out, she turned, handing a canister to Derlin. Per Alvessen walked into the kitchen, holding an armful of blankets. "Will these do, son?"

"They'll do nicely," Raimik told him, taking a blanket off the top of the pile. “I’ll get this beneath his head, then we can turn him."

oo0oo

The heavy-lift droids grasped hold of the side of the ship, keeping it in place as the Jumper sliced through the final microns of durasteel.

"Haul away!" Ulafssen ordered.

The whine of the droids motors pitched up as they pulled the side of the ship free, taking its weight and floating it slowly backwards away from the rest of the wreckage. Ulafssen climbed into the flight deck, anxiety tight in his chest. The Jumper inside, however, was already sitting up, drawing the heat sheeting away from Hobbie and himself.

"You okay?" Ulafssen asked.

The Jumper nodded at him, grinning beneath his mask. "We're fine, Chief! We've been exchanging numbers. Hobbie here's been telling me about a gorgeous, little redhead he met in a casino on Ord Mantell..."

"Well, I hate to interrupt," Ulafssen interjected, "but with the Empire's finest on the way, I reckon we ought to set our focus on getting Hobbie out of here so he can go visit his redhead again."

The jovial atmosphere evaporated. The Jumper climbed to his feet. "Sorry, Chief."

Ulafssen relented, resting a hand on his shoulder, telling him, "No, son, I'm sorry. You did a good job. But time is pressing... Let's start cutting this metal away."

He crouched beside Hobbie, assuring him, "We'll have you out of here soon."

Pulling out a medscanner, he ran it across the Rebel pilot, nodding at the readings. He was still hypotensive, but he was stable for the moment.

Behind Ulafssen, guided by the Jumper, a cutting droid was lowering itself into position. The remains of the flight deck was cramped, but Ulafssen wasn't prepared to leave until they had Hobbie out of the wreckage, and he wanted the Jumper there, just in case he needed a second pair of hands.

"Jemm," he ordered, "keep an eye on Hobbie. I've got this."

"Copied, Chief," the Jumper confirmed, moving back to let Ulafssen through, before going to kneel beside the trapped pilot.

"Okay, Exaar," Ulafssen ordered, pointing out a bit of the wrecked console, "let's snip through there and take this whole bit off here..."

Piece by piece, the droid cut through the wreckage, slowly removing the layers of durasteel trapping the pilot. The Jumper chatted to the Rebel pilot the whole time, monitoring his condition every few minutes. It took far longer than Ulafssen would have liked but, finally, they cut through and released the metal trapping Hobbie's left leg.

Hobbie grunted softly in discomfort as the pressure was released. The jumpsuit material was covered in blood and Ulafssen moved out of the way, letting Jemm in to deal with the injuries.

"The suit is keeping pressure on the wounds," Jemm told him. "I'm not going to cut it away. I'll put dressings on for now..."

Ulafssen nodded, frowning as he was able to get a better look at Hobbie's other leg. He could see, immediately, that it was sitting at a strange angle. He swore, silently. The Rebel pilot's ankle was obviously broken... so why wasn't he in more pain?

Cursing, wondering if he had somehow missed a spinal injury, worried that the damage was far more severe than they had first thought, Ulafseen turned to Jemm. "Is he still stable?"

Before Jemm could answer, Sheriff Svioisaar appeared against the side of the hull. "Chief!" she warned, "We're out of time. The Imperials just reached the edge of the forest..."

Ulafssen swore. This was going to take more time than they had. "Can you divert them to the other wreckage first?" he asked. That would buy them a little time at least.

"Cut through it," Hobbie told him.

Ulafssen and Jemm looked at him in horror. "Son..." Ulafssen began.

Hobbie quirked an eyebrow at the expression on Ulafssen's face, telling him, "It's prosthetic... Had a run in with a TIE fighter a few years back..."

Ulafssen considered the pilot for a long moment as he realised what Hobbie was saying. Then he shook his head, a slow smile pulling across his face. "Well that makes things a lot easier..."

"I'll still head them off," the Sheriff assured, "take them to the other site first."

She disappeared and Ulafssen turned his attention back to Hobbie, asking, "You're sure this isn't going to hurt, son?"

Hobbie shrugged. "Can't be any worse than when I lost it the first time..."

"I'm done here, Chief," Jemm told Ulafssen, standing up out of the way, lifting away the remains of the medpak.

"Okay, then let's do this," Ulafssen ordered, moving closer to take a good look at the prosthetic. "Medscanner," he asked, taking it from Jemm, running it across Hobbie's still-trapped leg. Now that all the durasteel had gone, the prosthetic was readily identifiable. _Just above the ankle_ , Ulafssen decided, guiding the droid in.

He turned, looking at Hobbie, "You ready, son?"

The pilot nodded, assuring him, "Ready..."

Hobbie braced himself. Pain was something he was familiar with, something he knew he could endure. He had already suffered through the loss of his leg, and an arm. Getting out of the remains of this damned ship before it became his coffin, or his passport into an Imperial cell, was all that mattered right now.

The droid's pincers closed, slicing down into the prosthetic.

Hobbie dragged in a breath against the unexpected intensity of the agony that flooded up from the prosthetic nerve endings spliced into the remains of his leg. He hadn't expected this. The half-remembered anguish of the initial injuries was nothing compared to this slow, deliberate compression. He forced the breath out slowly, dragging in a second. The prosthetic cracked, popped and fractured, fluid leaking out.

Hobbie's eyes rolled back in his head and he relaxed into unconsciousness. Swearing, Ulafssen grabbed for the medpak and the medscanner…

With a final crack, the prosthetic snapped in two.

Ulafssen checked the medscanner as the droid retracted its cutting arm. Hobbie's heartbeat was steady. Satisfied with the readings, the Chief pulled a knife from his leg pocket, slicing through areas of the prosthetic skin that hadn't separated. Then he turned, looking at the unconscious, blond pilot.

"Let's get you out of here..."

oo0oo

Derlin had stepped aside after a quick discussion with Raimik, conceding to the sergeant’s more comprehensive field medic training. While Raimik had guided the medical apparatus in to repair the rupture in Luke’s spleen, Derlin had monitored Luke’s condition closely. Finally, Raimik lifted the medical equipment away from Luke, handing it to Dune before sealing the two, small incisions in the pilot’s side. Dune turned, starting to spray the equipment with sterilising gel.

“How’s it looking?” Raimik asked.

“Blood pressure’s not bad,” Derlin confirmed, handing the medscanner to the sergeant, “Not happy with his breathing, though…” He looked over at Alvessen. “Sir,” he began, “the Jumper who was here… He said something about Luke taking a lungful of spores. What did he mean?”

Per Alvessen chewed on the inside of his lip for a long moment, before asking, “How much do you know about Daemor syrup?”

Derlin frowned, glancing at Raimik, who shrugged, supplying, “It tastes pretty good on a stack of crepe-bakes…”

Derlin rolled his eyes, shaking his head, turning his attention back to Alvessen. “Forgive the sergeant,” he apologised. “He thinks with his stomach.” Voice more serious, he asked the older man, “What do we need to know?”

“The trees are covered in a fungus," Per told him. "They live quite happily together. In fact, it’s the fungus that gives the Daemor syrup its flavour. However,” he went on, “the fungus can be dangerous. The microbes get into the lungs, then into the blood. We call it Spore Lung. When you’re dealing with the trees, if you ain’t from these parts, you ought to be wearing a mask...”

A slow twist of dread settled in Derlin’s stomach as he realised what Alvessen was saying. Luke and Wedge had obviously been exposed to the spores. That’s why Wedge was coughing. That’s why Luke’s lungs were showing signs of congestion. Derlin frowned as the other part of Alvessen’s statement hit him. “They get into the blood?”

“Through the lungs, or a break in the skin,” Per confirmed. “It affects everyone different. Some take seizures. Others end up not able to breath, or the heart fails, or the kidneys pack up…”

Dune turned, looking at the older man in disbelief. Raimik swore. Derlin smothered his emotion as the situation moved, once more, from bad to worse. He’d heard grimmer news than this on more than one occasion. He couldn’t afford to allow sentiment to cloud his judgement. He was the senior officer. He was responsible for these people. Antilles and Skywalker might not be the only ones infected. The spores could be affecting every single member of the strike team, with the symptoms simply taking less time to show than in Wedge and Luke.

“How do we treat it?”

“That,” Alvessen told him, “is beyond anything in the medpaks. Only pressure can kill it. A hyper-atmospheric chamber. There are two in the Malhördhem medical centre… but we have no one there we can trust…”

Derlin considered Alvessen’s words for a long moment. Even if no-one else began to show signs of this Spore Lung, getting Luke and Wedge the medical treatment they needed was potentially going to expose them to Imperial scrutiny. But without that treatment, they were going to die…

And then there was Hobbie…

“How long do we have?” he asked Alvessen.

The older man sighed, then admitted, “I don’t have the answers you need, son. It all depends on how many spores got into their lungs…”

“We can filter it,” Raimik thought out loud.

Derlin looked at him. “What?”

“We can’t kill the microbes, but we can filter them,” Raimik told him. “My Grandma Edytha, her kidneys packed up. She had dialysis equipment to clear all the toxins out of her blood…”

“It might buy us time,” Derlin agreed, looking at Alvessen. “Can you find us dialysis units?”

The old man grinned at him. “Now that, I believe I can do, son!”

oo0oo

Ash stood beside Deputy Erika Valsaar, watching as the Imperial vehicles moved towards them. "What did you manage to find out about this Colonel... what's-his-name…?" Ash asked.

Erika smiled, supplying, "Vyre. Colonel Marek Vyre. He's career military. Graduated from Corulag. That's all I've been able to find out so far."

Ash made a small sound of disgruntlement, commenting, "Well, with any luck he'll inspect, check, log and be out of our hair by sundown..." _And let us start arranging the business of getting the Rebels back to their people..._

Erika chuckled. Unaware of the Sheriff’s true motive, she assigning Ash's keenness for the Colonel’s rapid departure to the regular sabbac game the Sheriff had with several of Malhördhem's more upstanding citizens. The game was tabled for that evening. "Well," she ventured, "if he doesn't leave fast enough, you could always tempt him for a hand of sabbac..."

Ash snorted. "And have him drag Lady Valda off to Kessel when she fleeces him? Gone by sundown's a much better plan..."

"Maybe she'll like him," Erika quipped, trying hard not to grin.

Ash groaned. "And have her tempt him into the delights of the bordella? Are you determined to turn my hair grey by inviting an Imperial Colonel to drop in regularly?" she accused, glaring at her Deputy. "No...” she repeated, “Gone by sundown's a much better plan..."

The landspeeder drew to a stop. A tall, dark-haired man in Imperial uniform rose to his feet, stepping out. Shooting her Deputy another glare, Ash moved to meet him.

Colonel Marek Vyre tugged his uniform jacket straight and turned to greet the woman who walked towards him. She moved with the confidence of someone who was sure in their authority and he found himself wondering how long she had been Sheriff in this area. She held her hand out, shaking his with a firm grip.

"Welcome to Malhördhem, Colonel Vyre," she greeted. "I'm Sheriff Svioisaar. Sorry you've had to come all this way. I'm sure you have more important things you could be doing. All I have for you is bodies."

Vyre quirked an eyebrow, a spark of indignation flowing through him. Looking at her, voice cold, he asked, "You believe the recovery of Rebel terrorists is a waste of my time, Sheriff?"

Ash looked back at him calmly, quirking an eyebrow back at him. "When they're all dead, Colonel, that's a waste of everyone's time."

Vyre smiled, accepting that she had a valid point. "Forgive me, Sheriff," he told her. "I meant no disrespect."

"None taken," she assured him. "It's been a long day for everyone. The ship came down about seventy clicks into the forest," she went on. "It broke into three parts. The flight deck and main part of the cabin came down close together. The tail section landed about a click further back. We have five dead from the tail, one from the flight deck, one from the main cabin. They're all wearing Rebel uniform and there's a lot of carbon scoring on the sides of the ship."

She stopped, glancing back at the stormtroopers who were now milling around behind the troop transport. "Do you want me to take you in for a look before you deploy your troopers?" she asked. "I'd suggest the tail section first, since that's where most of the bodies are."

"That," Vyre told her, "sounds like an excellent idea."

"Well," Ash offered, "we can take my speeder, or go in yours."

Vyre considered for a moment, then told her, "Mine, I think, Sheriff."

He turned, holding his hand out, inviting her to step into the speeder ahead of him. Nodding in acknowledgement, she climbed in.

"The Lieutenant," he went on indicating the younger man sitting in the speeder beside the driver, "is here to take images of the crash scene and the dead. I doubt we'll get any identity confirmations, but one never knows."

"It always pays to be thorough," Ash commented as the speeder began to move forward. "Follow this track for another two clicks..."


	4. Mission Abort + 5hrs

_Mission Abort + 5hrs_

_17:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

COLONEL MAREK VYRE walked around the wreckage of the tail of the ship, inspecting the blackened, charred hull. It had taken heavy fire. It was difficult to tell what damage had been caused by the crash, and which had been the result of a fire fight, but the ship had definitely been in an altercation. Whether or not it was the one Lord Vader was looking for, remained to be seen.

Vyre had no intentions of submitting any reports until he had conclusive verification. If Vader was involved, he wanted to have everything checked and catalogued, ready to hand over, supplying Vader with all the information he could.

Lieutenant Kedris moved towards him. "This part of the ship is too badly damaged to confirm identification, Colonel," he reported. "We may have better luck with the rest of the wreckage, perhaps the flight deck. And there are no immediate matches for the dead Rebels," he went on, "but the database is searching."

Vyre nodded, telling him, "We need absolute confirmation on this one, Kedris. There can be no mistakes."

The Lieutenant nodded, "I understand, Colonel."

Sheriff Svioisaar moved towards them. "Do you want us to move the bodies to the morgue, Colonel? Or are you going to take responsibility for them?"

Vyre looked across at the row of body bags. "We've not yet confirmed them as Rebels, Sheriff," he admitted, "but as they are in Rebel uniform, my people should take responsibility for them. They'll be removed to the garrison morgue."

She nodded, agreeing, "Sounds fair. Well," she went on, "if you're finished here, I'll take you to where the rest of the ship came down."

Vyre looked at Kedris, who confirmed, "I've done everything I can here, Sir."

Smiling at Svoiosaar, Vyre told her, "We are at your disposal, Sheriff." As they walked back towards the waiting speeder, Vyre asked lightly, "So, Sheriff Svioisaar, tell me, what do you know of the Rebel activity in this area?"

Ash's stomach lurched and she swore silently. She kept her face neutral however, looking at him. Realising that trying to play 'dumb' might simply make her look incompetent, she met his question with one of her own. "You mean the so-called underground route to Rebel lines?"

Vyre smiled, pleasantly surprised that she had come straight to the point. "Yes," he told her, holding back to allow her to climb into the speeder ahead of him. "That's exactly what I mean." Normally, when he posed such questions, he was met with fluster and given immediate assurances that no Rebel activity existed. The Sheriff, however, was simply shrugging.

"It started after the student demonstrations," she offered. "I have no idea why, or how, the rumours began, but we occasionally get the young and stupid arriving in Malhördhem, believing that they're being unobvious and completely clandestine, asking questions about who they should speak to."

She gave directions to the driver as the speeder started moving, then continued, "Normally it's either in Torga's eatery, after they've finished kaffin and pie. Or Lady Valda's place, right after they've had some fun. In both cases, they're escorted into my office."

Quirking an eyebrow, taken aback by the honesty of her answer, Vyre looked at her. "And yet... we've had no reports of arrests."

Ash shrugged again, supplying, "Colonel, twenty-five years ago I was young and stupid, too. Back then, the Sheriff gave me a break, but I never forgot the warning he gave me. Five years later I was back behind bars, but as a Deputy. The way I figure it," she went on, "giving those kids a scare and sending them home to consider what could have happened, has far more effect on them than slapping them in binders and confining them to Imperial detention."

"You might still be allowing Rebels to escape," Vyre pointed out.

Ash nodded, agreeing, "I might. There's always going to be a militant minority... but most of the ones I returned to the city have stayed on to finish school and contribute to society."

She grinned at the look of surprise on Vyre's face. "I don’t just cut them loose, Colonel,” she told him. “I keep tabs on them... I can give you information on every, single one of them. And full descriptions of the few that were Imperial agents. Turn left up ahead."

oo0oo

Hetta Alvessaar pulled around the front of the house and drew to a stop beside the empty Fire Jumper speeder. “Per?” she called, climbing out of the speeder. "Per?" News of a crashed Rebel ship had been buzzing around Malhördhem. Folks had been talking about Imperial troops being seen on the road from the city. The presence of the Jumper’s speeder meant one of two things: the forest was on fire and they needed to evacuate, or the Jumpers had found Rebels alive in the crash wreckage.

Per appeared at the front door, holding up his hands, assuring her, "Don't worry, Hetta. Everything is fine. But we have guests..."

"Just Jumpers?" she asked, walking across the porch towards him.

"Rebels," he supplied, softly, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. "Youngsters, most of them..."

Hetta's memories slid back to their granddaughter. The familiar ache of grief pushed into her chest, as it always did when she thought of Mønaeg, and she shoved it resolutely away. "Are they hurt?" she asked.

He nodded, supplying, "They are…. And coughing… ”

She looked at him, a dull knot of worry settling in her stomach. If they had been infected by the Daemor tree spores, only a hyper-atmospheric chamber would prevent the spores from killing them. "This," she warned her husband, resting a hand over his, "is beyond any medical help we can give them."

He nodded, sighing heavily, "I know... They reckon they can slow it down. They've asked for dialysis equipment. I'll speak to Paim Lerrasaar... I believe she still has her Mama's things... But..."

He trailed off, sighing again before going on, "We could all be arrested and killed for what we're involved in... and I didn't want to put her into any more danger... But those youngsters in there... they're going to die without help. I have to go to Tarja."

Hetta smiled, lovingly brushing the back of her fingers down her husband’s cheek. He had resolutely denied any requests to bring Tarja Karsaar into their confidence. The Malhördhem medical specialist had suffered terribly at the hands of the Imperials during the riots in Ranveig. She had been arrested and tortured. Her fiancé had been killed. He had wanted to save her any more pain. "If anyone has reason to help these Rebels," Hetta agreed, gently, "it's Tarja."

He caught her hand, turning his head to lay a gentle kiss on her fingers. She smiled at him. “Well… introduce me to these young Rebels before you go."

Per folded his arms around her, holding her for a moment before letting her go. Taking her hand, he led her into the house. Hetta recognised the two Jumpers walking out of the living area and smiled at them.

"Mama Hetta," one of them greeted, then apologised, "I’m sorry. We can’t stay..."

She smiled at them, asking, “There’s word of the Imperials being here. Is it true?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the other Jumper confirmed. “They were moving into the forest as we pulled the pilot from the wreckage and brought him here.”

“Thank you,” she told them, turning to see them out. “Now scoot… and stay safe..."

She caught site of the stretcher on the kitchen table. Walking towards it, she paused in the kitchen doorway, looking at the bare-chested boy lying on it. A respiration mask covered his face, a dressing pressed to his side. He was young, not much older than her granddaughter. It crossed her mind, fleetingly, that he might have fought beside Mønaeg, might have been with her when she died on Hoth...

The thought brought the grief back into her chest and she dismissed it, taking a deep breath, pushing the heartache away.

"Per Alvessen!" she called instead. "What is this young man doing on my kitchen table when there are perfectly serviceable beds upstairs?"

"Ma'am," another voice answered. "That was my fault..."

Hetta turned, looking at the Rebel as he introduced himself. “Major Bren Derlin, Ma’am. Luke has internal injuries. We had to operate… We didn’t want to risk moving him.”

“Major!” another voice called, interrupting before Hetta could answer him. The Major turned, and Hetta followed him as moved through the hall and into the living area.

Derlin could already hear Wedge coughing. It was a dry, choking sound, and anxiety flared as Derlin realised that it wasn't stopping. Dune was sitting on the floor behind Wedge, supporting him as the coughing fit robbed him of the ability to breathe.

"Per," Hetta ordered, softly, "bring the lavandula and myrtaceae oils."

Nodding, her husband turned, heading back to the kitchen. Hetta moved towards the Major, who now knelt beside a young woman and a young man. The boy was red in the face, coughing hard and gasping for air. Hetta frowned, concerned by the severity of the cough. It couldn't have been more than a few hours since he'd been infected by the spores.

Finding a reassuring smile to give to the young woman, Hetta sank to her knees, taking the boy's hands, asking, "What's his name?"

"Wedge," Dune supplied.

"Wedge!" Hetta ordered, squeezing his hands. He looked at her, managing to take another, gasped breath before coughing again. "Don't fight it," she told him, calmly. "Don't panic. This will pass. You will be able to breathe soon. Trust me and don't fight it!"

Per appeared beside her, sinking to his knees. Opening the stopper on the bottles, he put a few drops of each oil on a cloth.

"This will help," Hetta told Wedge. "Hold it over your mouth and nose. Can you do that?"

Wedge nodded, taking the offered cloth and holding it to his face. The vapours from the oils tingled against his mouth and nose as he coughed, working slowly down his throat and into his lungs. As the older woman had promised, the tightness in his lungs began to ease.

Hetta kept a hold of Wedge's free hand until he was able to drag in a proper breath, coughing it out again, breathing in. Looking at Dune, Hetta ordered, gently, "Let's get him into the chair."

Derlin moved to help. Together, he and Dune lifted Antilles from the floor, settling him into one of the large, comfortable seats. Exhausted, Wedge sank gratefully back, the cloth still held over his mouth and nose.

Per exchanged a concerned look with Hetta, then lifted the bottles and climbed to his feet, heading out of the room towards the kitchen. Derlin saw the look and frowned, saying nothing.

“Well,” Hetta was telling them, “I think some kaffin and vittles are called for.”

Derlin followed her, waiting until he reached the hall before asking, "Ma'am? What's going on?"

Hetta turned, looking at him, pushing away her instinct to tell him everything was going to be fine. She looked past him, to Wedge. "The spores are acting far more quickly than I've seen before," she offered.

Derlin looked at her, worry settling deep in his gut. He turned, glancing at Wedge before turning back and looking beyond Heta towards the blond pilot lying unconscious on the kitchen table. "The ship was breaking up," he offered, "There was smoke, fumes. The flight deck's a confined space. If they breathed the smoke in, there might have been underlying damage... Luke is showing signs of reduced lung capacity."

He turned again, looking at Hobbie. The pilot was lying on the living area floor, still on the stretcher. He'd been out cold when the Jumpers had brought him in and had only come around briefly since then. "Hobbie doesn’t seem too bad, though."

"I'll go fetch the dialysis equipment," Per told him before looking at Hetta. They exchanged another long look before Per turned his attention back to Derlin. "Even if the medical specialist can help us, there are only two hyper-atmospheric chambers in the medical centre..."

The news unsettled Derlin even further. He took a breath, trying to calm the rising dread. He had thought that the crash was as bad as it could get. With so many of the strike team lost, he had allowed himself to believe that things were looking up when the Sheriff and the Jumpers arrived to help. Instead, the crash had potentially cost more lives than those killed in the impact. Without skilled, medical help more of his team were going to die...

"Sir," Derlin began, "we should contact our people. They'll be able to send help. We're putting you in danger."

Per shook his head, countering, "That's out of the question, son. There's an Imperial Colonel in the area... Not to mention the troops he brought with him. We can't risk it." He held up a hand as Derlin opened his mouth to protest, warning him, "Give it up, son. You're staying where you are, for a few days, at least. We'll get a message out, but in the usual way. That's the safest thing..."

"Major," Hetta offered, resting her hand on Derlin's arm, smiling at Per. "When my husband gets himself into a belligerent mood, there is no dissuading him. Rest easy here while he fetches help for your soldiers. If you can risk moving Luke out of my kitchen, I'll fix a hot meal. And, in the meantime, you can all clean up, change into fresh clothes. And then we can take a look at that shoulder you’re favouring, too."

In the face of such argument, Derlin nodded. Per was right: if they moved too early and the Imperials caught up with them, they would be putting Ash, Ulaf and these good people at terrible risk. He could use a wash, and there was little else they could do. As much as he hated to admit it, there was no option but to wait.

"Let me check on Luke, Ma'am," he offered.

oo0oo

Colonel Marek Vyre pulled the sheet back across the face of the dead Rebel pilot and rose to his feet. Of the seven bodies the Sheriff and her team had pulled from the wreckage, only Tarn Mison had been immediately recognised in the Imperial database.

He turned, looking across at Svioisaar. His first impression of the woman had been that she was entirely capable. She would have made an able Imperial asset.

Had it not been for Vader's personal interest in the ship, he would have happily walked away, leaving her to deal with it. Vader complicated the situation, however. Vyre had no intention of leaving until he had thoroughly satisfied himself that every part of wreckage had been inspected. If this ship was the one that Lord Vader was looking for, Vyre wanted to be completely sure that he could supply the man with any information he demanded.

"Colonel?"

Vyre turned as his Lieutenant approached him. "Sir, we've just had confirmation. This is the ship that was fired upon leaving Dendraali. The information is locked, Sir." He offered Vyre the datapad. "It requires your clearance..."

Vyre nodded, cursing silently, taking the pad. Part of him had hoped that this ship was nothing to do with Dendraali. The datapad sampled and confirmed his DNA before streaming the information.

The Dendraali base was a mind-wipe facility. The Rebel strike team had made no attempt to release any of the Alliance prisoners detained there, however. Initial analysis had suggested that it was a reconnaissance mission, rather than an assault: that they had hoped to infiltrate the base and get back out unnoticed. Their mistake had been in attempting to splice off information.

They had been forced to fight their way out, had barely made it off of Dendraali.

The dead here in Daemor, however, didn't match the number of Rebels Vader was searching for. Mison's body had been pulled from the wreckage, but he was not on the list. Bren Derlin had been identified on Dendraali, as had Luke Skywalker. Neither of them were among the dead.

Vyre sighed, seeing the situation spiralling out of his control. Vader was not going to be pleased about missing Rebels. Wondering how Svioisaar would explain herself, he turned, calling, "Sheriff?"

She walked over to him. "I'm afraid I have some bad news," he told her, locking off the most sensitive information, before handing her the datapad. "There are Rebels unaccounted for..." He gave her a predatory smile, "They must have run off when they realised their terrorist friends were dead."

Cursing silently, Ash flipped through the images, recognising Derlin and three of the others. She and Ulafssen had gambled that the Imperials might not know the identity of the strike team personnel. They had lost that gamble. Even so, she wouldn't have played things any other way, and she knew that neither Ulafssen nor the others involved in the rescue would have done anything differently.

Going through the images, Ash realised that not all of the Rebels had been identified... Antilles and Hobbie weren't amongst the pictures of the strike team. Neither was the dead pilot. Playing the part of the dutiful Imperial subject, she carried the pad across to Mison. Crouching down, she pulled back the sheet that covered him.

"This one's not on your list," she told the Colonel. "We dragged him out the flight deck. He must have been their pilot."

Vyre watched her as she stood up, pulling her comlink from her pocket, "Kaysix, this is Svioisaar."

"Go, ahead, Sheriff," the droid's voice answered.

"I need a Wanted Persons Bulletin issued on six Rebel terrorists," she advised. "Bren Derlin, Luke Skywalker, Dav Raimik, Carasynthia Dune, Vedrik Basun and Haarlan Gelnara. The details will be in the database," she went on. "They are strictly 'Do Not Approach'. They are outside domestic jurisdiction and are to be apprehended only by Imperial personnel. Copied?"

"Wanted Persons, Do Not Approach," Kaysix confirmed. "That is copied, Sheriff."

Ash put the comlink back in her pocket, handing the datapad back to Vyre. "My apologies, Colonel. I was overconfident. I should have anticipated that there were Rebels who had survived and escaped the wreckage."

Vyre took the datapad, giving her a long, appraising look. He had expected excuses, promises of returning the Rebels to him, panicked assurances. Instead she had calmly apologised. His first impressions of her had been correct, it seemed: she was sure in herself and in the position she held.

"Apologies may not be enough when Lord Vader arrives to take custody of Skywalker and Derlin," he warned her.

Ash looked at him, cursing silently again. Things had just gone from bad to much, much worse, but there was nothing she could do about that...

Or perhaps there was...

Hoping that she sounded more calm and confident than she actually felt, she looked back at the datapad, "Then we'd better find the Rebels, Colonel.... assuming, of course," she went on, indicating the datapad, "they were on this ship in the first place..."

Vyre looked at her, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing as he realised that the Sheriff had a valid point. He had received no such confirmation. More than that, the information he _had_ been given was incomplete: concerning only the strike team, as identified from security footage taken within the Dendraali base.

The dead pilot, Mison, had not been on the list. Perhaps Derlin and Skywalker were not among the dead because they had never been on the crashed ship. Perhaps they had never left Dendraali. Vyre was already having to tread carefully and this complicated the situation further. Lord Vader did not accept failure lightly and Vyre was determined not to be the next Imperial officer to have his career prematurely terminated.

"In the meantime," the Sheriff was continuing, "I'll arrange accommodation for you in the town." She quirked an eyebrow, "I’m assuming you'll want to stick around until the Rebels are taken?"

"I think it would be unseemly for me to depart while my troops are deployed in the area, Sheriff," he told her. “But there’s no need for you to trouble yourself. We will requisition what we need.”


	5. Mission Abort + 7hrs

_Mission Abort + 7hrs_

_19:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

PER ALVESSEN SETTLED HIMSELF into the chair as Tarja Karsaar, Malhördhem's medical specialist sat down opposite him. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked.

Per took a deep breath then went straight to the point, realising that there was no use in walking around the subject to begin with. "I've not come for myself... I've come for some boys who are back at my place..."

Tarja frowned, asking, "Has there been an accident?"

"The Rebel ship," Per offered. "It crashed not far from my place. There's one boy hurt real bad, one with deep cuts on his leg, another with a gash that runs half the length of his back... And there's one coughing. He took a lungful of tree spores..."

Stunned by his words, Tarja simply looked at him, her expression unreadable.

Per sighed, telling her, "I know I'm asking a lot... I'll understand if you can't help. I wouldn't have come, I wouldn't have involved you... but spores are beyond any help a medpak can give..."

Emotions roiling inside her, Tarja Karsaar sat back. For the first time in weeks, her memories flowed back to the riots in Ranveig, the strength of the emotions swamping her for a moment. Hate, anger and disgust vied with duty and the knowledge that she had taken an oath to care for the sick, to give medical assistance to any who needed it. She closed her eyes, swallowing hard.

There was something she had to be sure of, though, before she made any decision. She opened her eyes, looking at him. "Per, do you know how much danger you have put yourself and Hetta in? Allowing Rebels into your home?"

He shook his head, sighing, telling her, "They're just youngsters, Tarja... barely your age... And so badly hurt..."

Tarja looked at him. He had been her grandfather's closest friend. Her grandfather had always said that Per was a good man, even if he had no head for politics. Looking at Per now, Tarja could see that he didn't care if they were Rebel or Imperial: they were hurt, and that's all Per cared about.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, telling him, "I will come with you..."

oo0oo

Derlin towelled himself dry as best he could, wincing in discomfort as his arm and shoulder protested. In the events and adrenalin of the previous hours he had forgotten about the injury until Hetta had commented on it.

When he'd tried to take off his jumpsuit, however, he'd discovered that the restraints hadn't just jarred his shoulder during the crash, they'd dug in, abrading the skin beneath the cloth. Blood had crusted over the injury, black bruising mottling across his shoulder and down onto his arm. The grazed skin had stung under the cleanser and water, pulling a hiss of discomfort from him.

Despite the discomfort, he'd relished the warmth of the water streaming over his skin. It had been a long time since he'd had a chance to stand beneath a rush of water. He'd been using freshers for as long as he could remember...

He reached for the clean pants Hetta had given him, pulling them on. They were too long, but not by much. Lifting the shirt, but not putting it on, he walked out of the wash room towards the stairs. He should have Raimik look over his shoulder, make sure there was nothing more than grazed skin and protesting muscles.

The delicious aroma of food pulled a rumble from his belly as he walked down the stairs. Hetta had been good to her word and had cooked.

Derlin paused at the door of the living area. Dune and Basun were both asleep in the easy-chairs. Wedge was also asleep on one of the other chairs, his left arm cradled on a cushion. IV lines ran into a cannula from the dialysis unit which sat beside him, humming away quietly to itself as it filtered and purified his blood.

Luke had been moved from the kitchen table before Derlin had gone to wash. They had decided not to move him off the stretcher and had carried him into the living area. He lay, motionless apart from the shallow movement of his breathing, the respiration mask covering his face. Someone had draped a soft blanket over him. Walking across to him, Derlin crouched beside him, running the medscanner over him, checking the readings.

He wasn't any better, but at least he wasn't any worse... although, his lung capacity was still decreasing...

"Want me to take a look at that shoulder, Major?" Raimik asked from the door.

Derlin turned, standing, admitting, "Yeah... it's starting to seize up on me. Luke isn't any better," he went on as Raimik walked towards him.

"No," the sergeant confirmed, "but he's holding his own, so that's something. Wedge's blood oxygen level has stabilised since we hooked him into the dialysis unit.” He took the scanner, running it over Derlin's shoulder. "His lungs still aren't right, though. Neither are Luke's... Hobbie doesn't appear to have been affected, at least, and his leg is healing. Basun had some discomfort from his back, so I've given him an analgesic."

He switched off the scanner, offering, "No permanent damage, Major. The muscles and ligaments have been overstretched. You're going to be sore for a while. Do you want something for the pain?"

Derlin nodded, "Yeah... but I need my wits about me. Actually," he went on, changing his mind, "a stim shot would be better."

"No problem," Raimik assured him. "Hobbie's through in the kitchen, eating." He chuckled, offering, "I think he must have banged his head in the crash. He's been flirting with Hetta."

Derlin quirked an eyebrow. Flirting was not something that the dour Ralltiiran pilot was known for. "You'll be telling me next that he's smiling!"

"That too," Raimik grinned. "And he's just gone as far as saying that Hetta's broth is one of the best he's ever tasted..."

"This I have to see!" Derlin quipped. "Probably side-effects from one of the drugs the Jumpers gave him..."

“Maybe we should get a supply of the stuff?” Raimik suggested.

oo0oo

"My Lord..."

Vader turned, looking at Admiral Firmus Piett.

"The ship that escaped the blockade of Dendraali has been located," Piett told him. "It crashed in the Daemor area of Vaaljajord..."

Dread settled deep inside Vader's chest. _If the ship had crashed_... it would explain the brief, strangled burst of emotion he had sensed from his son: before everything had gone silent.

"No survivors have been located," Piett was continuing, "However, Colonel Vyre reports that the bodies identified do not correspond to the Rebels known to have infiltrated the Dendraali facility."

Vader would not, could not believe that his son was dead. "Explain!" he demanded.

"Derlin, Skywalker and four other Rebel Special Forces soldiers were identified on Dendraali, but they are not among the dead... However, a Rebel pilot identified as Tarn Mison was found in the wreckage. He was not part of the strike team within the facility."

 _Luke was not among the dead_... Relief flowing through him, Vader asked, "Were any escape pods launched?"

"The ship had none," Piett supplied. "Colonel Vyre reports that, considering the state of the wreckage he inspected, the chances of surviving the crash are doubtful. He suggests that the missing Rebels may not have been aboard."

Beneath the mask, Vader allowed himself a smile. Luke was still alive. The boy must have remained on Dendraali with the other missing Rebels. "Vaaljajord has been locked down."

It was a statement not a question, but Piett answered anyway, confirming, "It has, my Lord. All traffic into and off of the planet is being inspected. Any irregularities are resulting in denial to transit the Vaaljajord atmosphere. And the Dendraali blockade is still in place."

"Set course to Dendraali, Admiral," Vader ordered. "Bren Derlin is one of the executive members of the Rebel Alliance's Command Staff. The Emperor is most anxious to speak to him."

"At once my Lord," Piett confirmed, turning away.

Once the Rebels had been hunted down, Derlin would be detained at Palptine's pleasure, distracting the Emperor and giving Vader time to reacquaint himself with his son. Their encounter at Bespin had been too brief.

_If you only knew the power of the Dark side..._

Obi Wan had begun Luke's instruction in the ways of the Force, and had taught him well. Vader planned to finish that training. And with Luke at his side he would no longer be shackled by Palpatine, ridiculed as a sorcerer by those such as Motti, who could never hope to understand the true power of the Force.

With Luke at his side, he would prove to everyone that they had been fools to underestimate him! With his son at his side, the entire galaxy would understand the peace that the true power of the Dark Side of the Force could bring.

oo0oo

Luke could hear voices. They were blurred and indistinct, a soft buzz that dragged him out of a comfortable darkness. Images flashed through his head: a blaster bolt skimming past his head so closely that he felt the heat of the shot; walking down a long corridor, flanked by uniformed troops; deflecting blaster fire with his lightsaber as someone yelled his name and he turned and ran; AT-ATs moving towards him over snow-covered terrain; TIEs swarming around the ship; trees rushing up at him…

He tried to cry out, tried to bring his hands up to shield his face… but his limbs were too heavy. He had no strength to move.

He heard a soft voice calling his name, felt someone touch his shoulder. He tried to open his eyes, but it was too difficult, it took too much effort.

“Luke?” Derlin tried again. He was reticent to remove Skywalker’s respiration mask, worried that the injured pilot might start coughing. If Luke took a fit like Antilles had, it could undo everything Raimik and the Jumpers had managed to do. Instead, Derlin reached out, gently taking the pilot’s hand. “Luke,” he ordered, “if you can hear me, squeeze my hand!”

There was a long pause then, slowly, the fingers tightened before relaxing. Derlin grinned at Raimik, nodding, heaving a sigh of relief. “You had us all worried there for a time!” he told Skywalker.

“Luke,” Raimik asked, “are you in any pain? If you are, squeeze the Major’s hand once: if you’re not, squeeze twice…”

The pressure on Derlin’s hand increased slowly once, then twice. Derlin shook his head at Raimik who relaxed, relieved that he’d got the analgesic levels right and that Luke wasn’t suffering.

Derlin had already turned his attention back to Skywalker. “You’ve been injured, Luke,” he told him. “Sergeant Raimik had to operate… so,” he quipped, “we can only hope that he’s stitched everything back in the right place.”

“Well,” Raimik put in, “there was that extra bit I found…”

Derlin, chuckled. “See what I mean?” Then he sobered, going on, “We’re working on getting you to a med centre, but that might take a while. There will be someone here with you all the time, though, until we do.”

He paused, glancing up at Raimik, unable to resist a joke at Hobbie Klivian’s expense. “You’re probably better off lying here with your eyes closed, Luke,” he offered, “because Hobbie’s smiling… and it’s a damned disconcerting sight!”

oo0oo

Tarja Karsaar climbed out of the speeder, lifting her trauma box from the back before following Per Alvessen as he led the way across the porch and into the house. Hetta was waiting in the hall. The older woman hugged her, telling her, "Thank you for coming. Can I get you kaffin? Cha?"

Tarja shook her head, asking, "Where are they?"

"Through here," Per told her, leading the way into the living area. Tarja stopped at the door, taking in the scene. Then she moved across to the blond man lying on his side on a stretcher. She pulled out a medscanner, running it across him. Frowning, at the readings, she asked, "Who operated?"

A broad-shouldered, blond man took a step towards her, "That was me, Ma'am."

She glanced up at him, telling him, "You did a good job..."

"Thank you," he told her, glancing at Derlin who nodded at him before turning his attention back to Luke and the woman.

"What's his name?" Tarja asked.

Derlin hesitated for e moment, then supplied, "Luke. His name's Luke."

"Luke?" Tarja asked, "Luke, can you hear me?"

"He was conscious before," Derlin told her. "He wasn't able to speak, or open his eyes but he squeezed my hand..."

Tarja nodded, saying nothing, running the medscanner again. "Well, Luke, your friend has done a good job of stitching you up... Your kidneys are still bleeding a little, but I can deal with that once I get you to the medical centre. You've suffered a concussion, too, so you might feel a little disoriented. I'm going to fix you up with a nasal cannula, instead of the mask, just in case you feel a little sick. There's no damage to your spine that I can see, but the muscles have been overstretched... and some of the ligaments in your shoulder have been torn. But that's something else I can look at once you're in the med centre..."

She reached out, slipping her hand into his, "Do you understand?"

The fingers tightened around hers. Squeezing his hand back in reassurance, Tarja turned to Raimik, asking, "Can you help me?"

He moved to kneel beside her as she opened the trauma box, pulling out a packet of thin tubes and handing them to Raimik. The sergeant opened the packet, carefully pulling out the tubes.

Tarja reached back into the box, retrieving a small oxygen converter, handing it to Raimik. As the sergeant fitted the ends of the tubes into the converter, Tarja gently slipped the respiration mask off of Luke's face, sliding the strap over his head. Discarding the mask beside her, she held out her hand. Raimik handed over the cannula, watching it as she fitted it in place over Luke's ears and against his nose. "The converter runs hot," she warned Raimik, "so don't put it against his body. Leave it on the floor for the moment."

"Ma'am," he confirmed.

Pushing herself to her feet, she moved across to the young man who drew a blanket off his legs, revealing dressings on his right leg, and a prosthetic left leg, severed just above the ankle. Running the scanner over his lower body, she nodded, telling him, "There's no damage where the prosthesis is attached. The lacerations on your other leg might even heal without scarring..."

She looked around at the broad-shouldered medic, "This was you, too?"

Raimik nodded, reticent to say anything about the Jumpers who had cut Hobbie out of the ship. "Mostly," he told her.

"You do good work," she told him, turning her attention back to Hobbie. Running the medscanner further up his body, she asked, "Your back giving you trouble?"

"The painkillers are helping," he supplied.

She nodded, telling him, "There is damage to the muscles of your lower back. Once we get you to the medical centre I'll see what I can do to repair them. It's just the muscles, though, not the spine itself. You've been lucky."

"Thank you, Ma'am," he told her.

Nodding to him, she turned and moved across to the dark-haired Rebel with a dialysis unit on his arm and a respiration mask on his face. She ran the medscanner over him, looking at the readouts.

The spores, the tree fungus microorganisms, were carried through the body in the blood and destroyed the cells of the body. In a human it caused multi-system collapse which varied from patient to patient. The kidneys may stop working, followed by the liver, or the heart. Or the respiratory system failed. Or the patient suffered a massive stroke. This young man's lungs had already been compromised. It was possible he had inhaled smoke or fumes in the crashed ship. "Are you finding it difficult to breathe without the mask?" she asked.

Wedge nodded. Voice muffled, he confirmed, "Yes..."

"The dialysis is working, keeping down the spore count," she told him, "but your lung function has been compromised: only slight, but that's why you are coughing. The only thing that will kill the spores is pressure: so you'll need to spend time in a hyper-atmospheric chamber. We have those back at the medical centre. And once we deal with the spores, we'll see what damage has been done to your lungs, okay?"

Wedge nodded, confirming, "Okay..." Then he asked, "How long do I need to be in this chamber?"

"At least twenty-eight hours," she supplied.

The tension in the room jumped. Tarja turned, looking at Raimik, asking, "Is there a problem?"

"Ma'am," Derlin told her, stepping forward, "we are already putting you in danger simply by being here. Will the dialysis unit stop the spores multiplying? Will it keep Wedge's condition from deteriorating in the short term?"

"Perhaps..."

"Then we stick with the dialysis unit," Derlin told her. "We cannot risk..."

"Who the hells do you think you are?" Tarja interjected, anger flaring at the man's refusal to let her treat her patients. She rose to her feet. "And where the hells did you get your medical degree?"

Not used to being interrupted or having his orders countermanded, Derlin blinked at her. The rest of the strike team glanced at each other then looked at the floor, or took a sudden interest in the chair fabric or admired the view out the window as Derlin shot back, "I am a Major in the Rebel Alliance and the senior officer present!"

"And medical judgment supersedes any orders issued by a senior office, no matter what rank that is!" Tarja countered. "Or is the Rebel Alliance in the habit of allowing its personnel to die simply because it suits the situation?"

Her words cut into Derlin, bringing back memories of the hurried evacuation from Hoth and of the people who had been left behind there. The losses were still too new, too raw in his memory and he had to swallow down emotion before arguing, "You said the dialysis would suffice!"

"I said perhaps!" Tarja corrected. "But it's not just the spores causing your soldier problems," she went on, "it's the prior damage to his lungs! Until the spores are dealt with, I don't know exactly what's going on! Even with the dialysis, his lung capacity is diminishing! And you have completely overlooked the fact that your other soldier has internal injuries and a head injury, and until I assess him properly, I have no way of knowing if his inability to open his eyes, or to speak, is an after-effect of the anaesthesia or, possibly, a brain injury!"

Per glanced at his wife in quiet respect. This was probably the most anyone had heard Tarja say since she had returned to Malhördhem after the riots. He could see a glimmer of the girl she had once been, could see that her medical judgement was entirely correct... but he also understood Major Derlin not wanting to place anyone else in any more danger. Tarja knew the cruelty that the Empire was capable of, but in her passion those memories had escaped her. The argument was only going to escalate if he didn't intervene.

"Stop!" he told them, stepping in between the Tarja and the Major. "This ain’t helping!" He turned, looking at Derlin. "Son, I see where you're coming from." Turning again, he looked at Tarja, telling her, "And I see your point too... but the Major, here,” he went on, “is only worried about bringing danger onto more folks.”

Tarja opened her mouth to protest, but Per held up his hand, stopping her. “Let an old man finish!”

She glared at him, but stayed quiet.

“Now," Per went on, looking from her to Derlin, "we're all agreed that these boys need help. And we're all agreed that, by taking them to the medical centre, we could be inviting Imperial retribution on Malhördhem..."

His words cut through Tarja's anger. They pulled her up short, reminding her who she was, bringing up memories of the events of Ranveig, of the scars on her back.

Per was turning, looking at Wedge. "Son," he began, "given the choice what would you do? Would you go to Malhördhem?"

The Rebel pilot looked back at him, shaking his head. Pulling the mask away from his face, he told Per, "We aren't meant to be here. We wouldn't have been here if the ship hadn't been damaged. We've put you in enough danger..."

Hetta looked from Wedge, to her husband, to Tarja, to Derlin. Then she turned, walking across to an old, wooden bureau. Stooping, she opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a sidearm and a blaster rifle. Then she straightened, turning to Per. Closing the drawer with her foot, she tossed the sidearm to him and settled the blaster rifle against her shoulder, aiming it at Derlin.

Dune flowed to her feet, holding up her hands, putting herself between the older woman and Derlin, trying, “Whoa… Hetta… Wait!”

Gaze fixed on Dune and the Rebel Major behind her, Hetta ordered, "Tarja, take these boys into Malhördhem. If anything happens, you tell the Imperials we forced you to treat them. Do you understand?"

Tarja looked at Hetta open-mouthed. "Yes," she confirmed. "But,” she went on, “I need to finish up here before we move anyone…" She looked at Raimik, asking, "Per said there was a laceration on someone’s back?"

Raimik nodded, indicating Basun.

"Major, you need to sit yourself down in one of these comfortable chairs!” Hetta warned gently, as Tarja moved towards the other soldier. “You, too!” she told Dune. “And, Force help me, if you make a move to stop Tarja taking care of these boys, I might just have to work out how to fire one of these things..."

Dune could tell from the easy way she held the rifle, that Hetta knew exactly how to use it. Derlin obviously could too, because he was doing as he was told, moving to the closest chair, sinking into it.

"Now, wait..." Dune tried again.

"Soldier," Per warned, "when my beautiful wife gets herself into a belligerent mood, there is no dissuading her."

Hetta turned, grinning at her husband. He winked back at her. Dune looked from one to the other, then across at Derlin. Attention on Hetta, Derlin ordered, “We are guests in this home. We should do as they ask.”

Dune wasn’t sure she agreed. But she wasn’t about to undermine Derlin’s now-limited authority by questioning him. The last thing she had expected was this good-natured couple to force the Major's hand so blatantly. It was a gutsy move, and Dune found herself wondering who, exactly, Per and Hetta were. Moving slowly, she sat down as close to Derlin as she could, hands resting lightly on her lap, ready to move if needed.

"Let me help the medic?" Raimik asked Per.

The older man nodded. “Go ahead, son.”

"I'm sorry, Major," Hetta told Derlin, "but we don’t have a choice. We couldn’t help our granddaughter, but we can help these boys."

"Granddaughter?" Derlin asked, frowning, wondering if the girl had been with the Rebel Alliance, or if she had been killed in the university riots.

Hetta nodded, telling him, "She died on Hoth."

Tarja glanced at Hetta in surprise, before turning her attention back to Basun. _So that was why Per and Hetta had been so willing to help these Rebels..._

Derlin's heart lurched, the announcement astounding him. He sat, stunned and open-mouthed. Across the room, Hetta's quiet words also struck a chord with Wedge. He looked at her, then across at Derlin. Most of the people in this room had survived the evacuation of Echo Base.

"Ma'am?" Dune asked, softly. Hetta looked at her. "Ma'am, I was on Hoth," Dune told her. “Who was your granddaughter?"

"Mønaeg," Hetta told her. "Mønaeg Erikssaar. Did you know her?"

Dune thought for a long moment, then shook her head slowly, admitting, "No, Ma'am, I'm sorry. I didn't."

Derlin remembered her, though. Or, at least, he remembered her name. "She was with Sergeant Major Callum's squad," he offered.

Hetta glanced at Per then looked at Derlin, her chest tightening in grief again as she wondered if this man could tell her how Mønaeg had died: could tell her if she had suffered...

"You knew her?" Per asked.

"I knew of her," Derlin told him. "She was Special Forces. She was the best of the best." He paused, then went on, "Callum's squad were defending the outer perimeter. They held their ground. They bought us time. They were brave..."

He trailed off as he remembered something else, something that hadn't even occurred to him until they had mentioned Mønaeg. _The Vaaljajord Route_...

Derlin had never been party to the minutiae of the clandestine route that filtered people towards Rebel Alliance lines, but as an Alliance Intelligence officer, he knew about its existence. He knew that it had come into being after Alderaan. He knew that the route was being managed by the family of an Alliance soldier.

He could, of course, be completely wrong but instinct told him that he was currently being held at rifle point by one of the founders of the Vaaljajord Route... and the Sheriff, the Fire Chief and everyone else who had helped them since the ship had crashed, were all taking direction from this seemingly-unassuming, older couple. They had fooled him into believing that they were nothing more than backwater grandparents who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He realised now that exactly the opposite was true. Per and Hetta knew exactly what they were doing and were, probably, almost completely in control of the situation.

Derlin took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, telling them, "Mønaeg Erikssaar had her grandparents' courage and they serve her memory well."


	6. Mission Abort + 8hrs

_Mission Abort + 8hrs_

_20:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

THE THUNDER RUMBLED TO A CRESCENDO before slowly dying away and Derlin pushed himself to his feet, pacing again. In the operating room beyond the doors, Raimik was assisting Tarja with Skywalker, trying to relieve some of the bruising to his kidneys and repair the torn ligaments in his shoulder.

In a room down the hall, Hobbie was snoring gently. He'd obviously been in more pain than he'd admitted to, and had been asleep within minutes of Tarja giving him an analgesic and a muscle relaxant. Basun was also asleep, in a bed beside Hobbie, face down, a bacta dressing covering the wound on his back.

Antilles was in one of the hyper-atmospheric chambers. The pressure inside had already reached the levels that Tarja assured would kill the spores. Once Skywalker was finished in the operating room, he would be put in the second chamber.

Derlin had no idea where Per and Hetta had taken Dune and Gelnara. It was the agreement they had come to. Dune and Gelnara would leave in the morning with Luke's Artoo unit, making their way back to Rebel lines via the Vaaljajord Route. Raimik and Basun would join them. Derlin would stay behind in Malhördhem with Klivian, Antilles and Skywalker.

Per had argued against it, but Derlin had insisted. He was the senior officer. He had a duty towards his people and there was no way he was going to leave injured personnel behind. He had vowed, after Hoth, that he would never leave anyone behind again.

Sighing, Derlin sank back into a chair, rubbing his hands across his face. They were never supposed to have been anywhere near here.

The whole mission had gone to hell from almost the moment Artoo had plugged into the mainframe of the Imperial facility. They had been lucky to get out, let alone off-planet. The ship had taken damage as they had tried to break away from Dendraali, though: too much damage. The hyperspace engines had failed, dropping them into normal space far sooner than they had planned. With the ship coming apart around them, they had run for the nearest planet.

They were lucky any of them had survived. But the mission hadn't yet been a failure, because they still had the information they had been tasked to retrieve, or part of it. They had proof that the Dendraali base was a mind-wipe facility.

More than that, there were Alliance personnel being processed within the rows of tanks that Derlin had seen there. Artoo Detoo currently held information about the process, so that Alliance medical personnel could work out if it was viable to get the Rebel prisoners out. The little droid had also found a list of all the Rebel Alliance personnel held within mind-wipe facilities across the galaxy.

Alliance Command had known about the political reprogramming instigated by Palpatine: a method to secure the unquestioning advocacy of some of his less stalwart supporters. Derlin's own father, a Senator before Palpatine's dissolution of the Senate, had been assassinated because he hadn't been a viable candidate for re-education.

In the months following the evacuation of Echo Base, the Alliance had begun to realise that Palpatine's re-education programmes had been expanded to include captured, Rebel personnel. Zev Senesca, posted as _Killed in Action_ after Hoth, had been pulled out of a downed TIE, much to the appalled dismay of the Alliance personnel who had rescued him from the crashed fighter. Derlin himself had been there when Senesca had been brought before an Alliance Board. He had stood, proud and defiant, secure in his status as an Imperial Officer.

It had been Major Palo Torshan who had recognised the wording of the speech Senesca had given to the board. Torshan had identified it as part of the address Palpatine had given to the Senate after the apparent Jedi assassination attempt on his life. When Senesca's debrief had thrown up more anomalies, more received language, Torshan had finally concluded that Zev Senesca had been re-educated: mind-wiped, brainwashed...

In the weeks that followed, while other former-Alliance personnel had been identified as serving within the ranks of the Empire, Senesca's conditioning had slowly unravelled, leaving him disoriented and disconnected. Putting him back in an X-wing to fly a dummy reconnaissance mission with Klivian, Antilles, Mison and Skywalker had, finally, brought back most of the memories of who he really was.

By then, the Dendraali base had been identified as the most likely facility. Derlin and Torshan had put together a plan to infiltrate it. They hadn't even finished outlining the brief to Luke, Wedge, Hobbie and Tarn before all four pilots had volunteered.

Now Tarn Mison was dead. Half the strike team were dead...

They had lost a lot, might yet lose more, but as long as the data Artoo held made it back to the Alliance, the mission would be a success. For that reason, Derlin had instructed Artoo to copy all the information secured on Dandraali. The copy was currently on a data crystal in Derlin’s pocket.

When he had ordered Artoo to return to Alliance lines with Raimik and the others, the little unit had twittered unhappily at the order, like a child whining in protest. Despite the direct order, Derlin still had a feeling that the droid would roll through the doors in the morning with Per Alvessen, when the older man came for Raimik and Basun.

Derlin heard a door open and stood up, moving back into one of dark offices behind him as another door opened and someone walked along the corridor towards the operating room.

"Major?" the Sheriff called, softly.

Derlin stepped forward into the corridor, answering, "Here."

She beckoned him and he followed her. The Alvessens had asked Tarja for help, but had made it clear that she was to be exposed only to them and to the Rebel personnel. She wasn't to know about Ash, Ulafssen or any of the other Malhördhem residents who actively participated in the non-cooperation faction. So Ash led Derlin away from the operating rooms, back down the corridor towards the main waiting area. When the doors closed behind them, she told him, "I'm sorry, Major. Your entire strike team has been identified."

Derlin sighed, rubbing his hand across his face as she went on, "I had to issue arrest alerts on you. Colonel Vyre is only aware of the strike team, though. He doesn't have any information on Klivian and Antilles."

"Well, that's something, at least," Derlin commented. Hobbie and Wedge were safe for a while longer. He and Luke, on the other hand, were courting trouble. An arrest alert meant that the Empire would be actively looking for them.

"Finding Mison has thrown Vyre, though," Ash went on. "He knows he's missing bits from the whole picture. He's covered his bases by supporting the arrest alerts but the report he filed suggests that you and your people might never have been on the ship. They're still looking for you," she warned, "but they're mostly looking for you two sectors over, not here."

Derlin allowed himself a small spark of hope. "Then we've been given some breathing space."

"Some," she agreed. She ran a critical eye over him. "Per says you ain't rested since the crash. Stims will only take you so far, Major,” she warned. “You're safe for the moment. Get your head down."

"I will, Sheriff," he assured her, "once Luke's out of surgery..."

"Get your head down now, Major!" Ash countered. "Vyre's requested an interview with Tarja. I've to take her to him, so I need to wait... And if you're still pacing the corridors, I'll have to explain to the good doctor why I've not arrested you, considering I'm the Sheriff hereabouts and supposed to be upholding Imperial law."

Derlin grinned, tiredly, agreeing, "Good point." Then he paused, frowning, asking her, "What does Vyre want with the medic?"

"She's a probationer," Ash supplied, "Has been since the Ranveig riots. And Vyre's flexing his muscles to prove who's in charge." Her tone of voice told Derlin exactly what she felt about the Imperial Colonel.

Derlin found himself unsettled by the thought of the medical specialist being interviewed by an Imperial officer. The fact that Ash didn't appear worried about it, however, gave him some sense of ease. He looked at her, asking, "Will she be okay?"

Ash considered the question for a moment. This wasn't the first time that Tarja had been summoned for interview by their Imperial masters. Normally, Ash had to escort her to the Ranveig garrison. She was interviewed for no longer than an hour, then Ash brought her back to Malhördhem. She had to do the same for another Ranveig student, an engineer... although the two were never summoned at the same time.

The injured Rebels could, on this occasion, complicate the issue. There was nothing that could be done about it, however. Tarja had been summoned and it would go badly for her, and for Ash, if she didn't appear. "She'll be fine," Ash assured him. "I'll be there for her. Now, get your head down. One of my Deputies will stay here once I’ve gone with Tarja."

oo0oo

Palo Torshan stood up, irritation at being disturbed melting away as the Princess Leia Organa walked through his opening office door. He saluted, acknowledging, “Your Highness.”

“Major,” she greeted, her worry obvious in the urgency of her movements as she walked towards him, as well as the concern written across her face. “I’ve just been told about the Vaaljajord media reports! Is it true? Has the ship crashed? Do we have any more information? “

Taking a deep breath, Palo confirmed, “The mission was compromised, Your Highness. And we know that the ship was attacked leaving Dendraali.” He paused then admitted, “We can’t be completely sure, but it’s highly probable that it was their ship in the Vaaljajord atmosphere.”

Leia looked at him for a long moment, dread punching through her, curdling in her stomach. She sank into the chair opposite him, fighting down the panic that rose into her throat. “But they're saying it crashed...” she began.

She knew she was being emotional, she knew she wasn't acting with the decorum required of senior Alliance personnel but, right now, she didn't care. Right now she couldn't find the strength to act as an Alliance commander: she was simply a woman who might have lost yet another of those closest to her, a man as dear to her as any brother. “They're saying everyone died.”

Her eyes were bright with emotion, her distress clear, and Palo hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Your Highness,” he began, “there is Imperial propaganda to consider. And we have just received information that Imperial authorities have issued arrest alerts for Major Derlin, Commander Skywalker, Sergeant Raimik and Troopers Dune, Gelnara and Basun... It’s unlikely those would have been issued if any of them had been confirmed as dead.”

Leia dragged in a trembling breath. Hope holding her voice steady, she asked, “So Luke… Commander Skywalker… may still be alive?”

“There's a good chance of that, Ma'am,” Torshan assured her. “But,” he cautioned, “until they make contact, we can't afford to draw any conclusions from such limited information.”

Leia nodded, feeling the tightness dissipate a little from her chest as cautious relief crept in. The news had been alarming. She had watched the media stream of the ship descending erratically through the Vaaljajord atmosphere, dark plumes of smoke trailing behind it, and had feared the worst.

Now, however, there was a chance that Luke may still be alive. Luke might not have been killed. She found a smile, found the strength to push herself to her feet. “Thank you, Major... And, my apologies for disturbing you...”

“Your Highness,” Torshan began, standing up, disconcerted by the emotion that was still written across her face. He had never seen her anything but calm and completely collected. He found himself, now, incredibly protective of her. He knew that if he could see her distress, others would too and it didn’t feel right to allow her to be exposed to that scrutiny. “Ma'am...” he began, attempting to delay her, if only for a few minutes, to allow her to regain her composure. “Could I offer you a cup of kaffin? Or some cha? If we replay the recordings of the media streams, we might find something of use. Something we missed.”

Leia looked at him. She almost refused, not sure that she could watch the erratic flight of the ship, again; knowing that the Major had other concerns. But the offer struck a chord and suddenly she found herself lacking the strength to pull the mantle of 'Princess' back over her and go out to face people. Not just yet... And perhaps there might be something in the recordings.

She gave him a genuine smile, telling him, “Major... A cup of cha would be most welcome...”

oo0oo

The rains had finally started, washed in by the rumbling thunderclouds that had threatened since the afternoon. Tarja Karsaar said nothing as Sheriff Svioisaar escorted her into the larger of only two Malhördhem hotels, where Colonel Marek Vyre had set up temporary headquarters. The Colonel's aide looked up from his desk in the foyer. He nodded in acknowledgement as Ash and Tarja reached him then dismissed Svioisaar with a curt, “Thank you, Sheriff. That will be all.”

“I normally wait for her,” Ash tried, reticent to be so summarily discharged, wanting to stay. With Derlin and the other Rebels in Malhördhem, she didn't want to miss any potentially important information.

“Her interview does not, normally, take place in her home town,” Vence countered. “We will ensure she is escorted back to her home, Sheriff.”

Ash swore silently, knowing that if she pushed the point, it would only cause suspicion. So instead, she shrugged, giving Tarja a quick nod before stepping back and moving away.

Vence turned his attention to Karsaar, telling her, “The Colonel is waiting for you.” He motioned to two stormtroopers who moved across, falling in on either side of her.

Ash watched as they escorted the medical specialist down the corridor. Then she turned, heading out of the hotel and back to the jailhouse. Her hands were tied. There was nothing she could do except hope that Tarja held up against Colonel Vyre...

Perhaps Per had been right. Perhaps they shouldn't have involved Tarja. And yet, without her medical help, the spores might already have killed Antilles; and Skywalker's kidneys would still have been bleeding, unable to cope with the additional stress of the infestation in his blood.

She considered, briefly, going back to the med centre to check on Derlin. With Rebels on the loose she had a valid reason to be watching it. But the aroma of kaffin wafted to her from the hotel restaurant, sending her stomach rumbling. She pulled up her hood against the rain and turned towards Mama Torga's diner.

oo0oo

Colonel Marek Vyre waited until the stormtroopers had left the room before lifting his head and looking at the woman who stood on the other side of his desk. She kept her gaze fixed on a spot on the wall just above his head.

She was slender, to the point that she gave the impression that she would break if you touched her. Vyre knew the strength hidden within the slim frame, however: strength that had pulled her through an interrogation procedure that had broken other students during the Ranveig riots.

He sat back in his chair, pulling up her dossier on the datascreen in front of him. “Tarja Karsaar,” he began, “Medical specialist for Malhördhem. We've not had the pleasure of each other’s company, before. It's normally Major Azhlyn who debriefs you.”

“Major Azhlyn is most thorough,” she confirmed.

“Indeed,” Vyre smiled. “The Major's reports are most encouraging.” He indicated the datascreen, reading, “Tarja Karsaar continues to be a well-adjusted and diligent advocate of the Empire, loyal proponent of the Emperor, steadfast ideals...” He lifted his eyes, looking at her. She glanced at him then returned her gaze to the spot above his head.

“It is the duty of every loyal citizen to do what is necessary to further the Emperor's intents,” she told him.

“Really?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow, pushing himself to his feet. “Then, forgive me, but I find myself questioning how truly loyal you are.”

His comment threw Tarja. Confusion and trepidation washed through her. Wondering what she had missed, she kept her expression neutral, looking at him. “What, in particular, gives you pause?” she asked as he moved out from behind the desk.

“Sheriff Svioisaar informs me that at least two misguided youths have arrived in Malhördhem since your last debrief, looking for the Vaaljajord underground route to the Rebel Alliance,” he told her, walking slowly around her. “Yet you have reported nothing.”

“There was nothing to report,” Tarja told him, keeping her gaze to the front. “They were, as you just said, misguided. They almost soiled themselves when they were handed over to the Sheriff. Her warning hit home. They scurried off to their respective, disaffected holes. They presented no threat.”

The derision and disgust in her tone pulled a smile from Vyre as he moved back towards his desk.

“However,” she was continuing, “you’re also right about there being more than two. The third was an ISB agent who trundled, dutifully, away from Malhördhem and no-doubt reported his lack of success to Major Azhlyn. As the man was obviously an Imperial agent. I saw no reason to inform the Major until my next debrief.”

Vyre chuckled softly. Karsaar had been one of the surprises of the Ranveig riots. She had been on the streets, searching for her fiancé, when she had been picked up, arrested and questioned. Her dossier detailed the entire process, including the scarring on her body from a particularly brutal beating by an ISB officer. Throughout it all she had protested her innocence, proclaiming her loyalty to the Empire and the Emperor.

Major Azhlyn had known her before the riots, through her family. He had seen her name, pulled her out of the cells: but he hadn't been in time to save her fiancé. The young man had already been executed.

Tarja had more than survived the riots. Azhlyn had recruited her. It was why she had returned to Malhördhem. When information reached Imperial Intelligence that the Rebels might have set up a route to Alliance lines through there, Tarja had delayed her official admission to the Imperial Academy to gather information about the potential route. Vyre found himself admiring her tenacity, as well as her delicate beauty.

“Your assumptions are entirely correct...” he told her, sinking back into his seat, ordering, “Sit down, Agent Karsaar.”

She stepped forward, doing as instructed, sitting opposite him as he asked, “And if the Sheriff had provided me with the names of the students she had sent home, what would your recommendations have been?”

Tarja looked at him, considering the question. “Colonel,” she told him, “I would recommend that you forget the students sent packing by the Sheriff and, instead, move to arrest the six Rebel terrorists currently hiding within the Malhördhem medical facility...”

Stunned, anticipation stabbing through him, Vyre sat forward, “What?”

“There are six Rebel seditionists in the medical facility,” she confirmed. “They survived the crash...”

“Six?” he asked, pulling up information in the datascreen.

Tarja nodded, supplying, “There are eight in total, but only six in the medical facility. Four are injured.”

Vyre pulled up a larger, holographic screen, casting the data onto it, asking, “Are any of them here?”

Tarja looked at the images, confirming, “Bren Derlin...” Then her eyes went wide and she looked at Vyre, telling him, “Luke Skywalker! They said his name was Luke, but it never occurred that it would be Skywalker. He's injured: seriously injured. He has a ruptured spleen, bruised kidneys...”

“We shall discuss his condition later!” Vyre interrupted, filing that information away for the moment, indicating the holoscreen. “Who else?”

Tarja looked back at it, confirming, “Vedrik Basun… Carasynthia Dune... Haarlan Gelnara... Dav Raimik.”

Almost the entire strike team, Vyre concluded: at least, the members of the strike team not yet accounted for.

“But there are two others,” Tarja continued. “There were no names mentioned, but one has a prosthetic leg and arm. The other...” She trailed off, realising that there was nothing she had to identify him.

“It's not important,” Vyre told her. “We'll find out soon enough.” Looking back at her, he asked, “How did they manage to find their way to the medical centre?”

Despite her resolute faith in the Empire and everything it stood for, Tarja hesitated. She had known Per and Hetta all her life. Per had been her grandfather's closest friend. They were good people. Tarja was sure that they had simply been misguided by their love for their granddaughter. They might have given refuge to enemies of the Empire, but Tarja was sure that their decision had more to do with Mønaeg's choices and her subsequent death, than with any disloyalty to the Empire. Grief could do strange things to people, and if she handed them over to Vyre now, if she told the Colonel the truth, Per and Hetta would be arrested.

Tarja knew they would never survive the sort of questioning she had endured, and she refused to allow Mønaeg's ill-informed choices to affect the older couple. “They invaded the house of people I know,” she told Vyre. “Per came to me for help.”

“Per?” Vyre asked, already formulating a plan of action to arrest Derlin, Skywalker and the remaining Rebels.

“Alvessen,” Tarja supplied. “He is an elderly man: my grandfather's closest friend.” She paused for a moment, then lied, “He and his wife were understandably distressed at the intrusion of armed terrorists. They are foresters, unused to threats and violence. When Derlin demanded medical assistance, Per contacted me. Derlin insisted that he accompany Skywalker and the others to the medical centre. He ordered Dune and Gelnara to stay with Per and Hetta to ensure my, and their, silence.”

She paused again, then supplied, “I was working out how to get the information to you without alerting them when Sheriff Svioisaar arrived.”

“Then,” Vyre clarified, “we have six Rebels, including Skywalker, in the Malhördhem medical centre… and two other Rebels still with the old couple?”

Tarja nodded, confirming, “That was the situation when you summoned me here, Colonel.”

Vyre nodded, considering all the information Tarja had just supplied. With Derlin and Skywalker in the picture, Dune and Gelnara were of no tactical importance. Nor did he care about the elderly foresters. However, it would be difficult to explain to his superiors why he had not brought them in, or had them executed, when he knew of their location... therefore stormtroopers would have to be dispatched to the old couple’s place.

Arresting the Rebels in the medical centre wouldn’t require in-depth planning, not with four of them injured. However, he had been a soldier long enough to know that mission plans could go awry. With Lord Vader, himself, having issued the detention orders, he knew it would be prudent to wait until he had the Rebels firmly within his grasp before saying anything to his superiors.

Turning his attention to another variable, he asked, “You said that Skywalker was injured?”

Tarja nodded, confirming, “He is. He suffered a ruptured spleen and bruising to his kidneys. We had to operate. What concerns me more, however, is the head injury he received. It's unusual, because the scans show only a mild concussion, but he’s displaying symptoms of serious brain injury.”

Vyre quirked an eyebrow, telling her, “I have no medical background. What does that mean?”

“He's not opened his eyes or spoken since the crash,” Tarja provided. “He's not unconscious; he can communicate, but only by squeezing your hand...”

“So we won't be able to question him?” Vyre surmised.

Tarja shrugged. “That's impossible to tell at this time, Colonel. I have a droid monitoring his condition. Once I've had a chance to assess him, further, I'll be able to tell you more.”

Vyre considered that for a long moment. Lord Vader would not be happy if he arrived to question Skywalker, only to find him incapacitated. But if he failed to inform Vader of Skywalker's capture, that could be even worse. And there were the other Rebels, including Bren Derlin: a man not inconsequential on the list of wanted terrorists.

“Give me the location of the old couple's property. Then return to the medical centre,” he ordered. “Monitor the condition of the injured Rebels: Skywalker in particular. We will take the Rebels at first light...”

oo0oo

Luke surfaced slowly into groggy awareness. There was silence, except for the soft, steady beep that he vaguely recognised as matching his heartbeat. He ached: his chest, his back, his shoulders. He lay still, trying to remember what had happened, trying to work out where he was.

He felt a hand settle gently over one of his own and tried to open his eyes, to turn his head... but he didn't have the strength. Everything felt so heavy... so... restraining... Anxiety fluttered in his belly. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

A memory began to form, but it dissipated as he tried to concentrate on it.

“Luke? Luke, can you hear me?”

 _Of course I can hear you_ , Luke tried to say, only he couldn't form the words, couldn't make his mouth move.

“Luke, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand...”

The anxiety tightened in Luke's chest. What was happening? What was going on?

Concentrating hard, he slowly managed to tighten his fingers around the hand that slipped into his. He heard a sigh of relief and then the man's voice told him, “Thank the Force... Luke, you've been injured. Do you remember? The ship crashed? You were thrown out of the wreckage.”

A vague memory lurched into his mind, of trees rushing past...

He fought to open his eyes... but they were too heavy. He didn't have the strength.

“Luke,” the voice was pushing. He recognised it, but he couldn't place it. “Luke, do you remember that you were injured? That we had to operate? If you do, squeeze my hand...”

 _Operate? Why would they have had to._..

Another memory rose up, of a woman's voice in the darkness... _Well, Luke, your friend has done a good job of stitching you up... Your kidneys are still bleeding a little, but I can deal with that once I get you to the medical centre..._

Concentrating, Luke contracted his fingers around the hand that held his.

The man was speaking again but Luke wasn't listening, preoccupied by the nagging sense of disquiet that was intensifying. Maybe it was the crash, because he was injured. The acknowledgement felt right, but there was something else, something more...

And, finally, it all fell into place. He had heard the man's sigh of relief. He had heard the relief, but he hadn't felt the emotion...

Since Ben Kenobi had guided him through those first, tentative steps of Jedi training, he had been aware of the weave of emotions around him. Yoda had shown him something infinitely greater; something previously so far beyond his understanding that he had never believed it existed; something beautiful and unconstrained: a connection between all living things that held the entire universe together.

The Jedi has used its power for millennia.

Only... it wasn't there... He couldn't sense it, couldn't feel the weft of it around him.

He was blind to it. He was wrapped in darkness... unable to move... unable to scream out the denial that rose up in his throat...

Whatever had happened during the crash, the Force had deserted him.


	7. Mission Abort + 16hrs

_Mission Abort + 16hrs_

_05:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

BASUN SHOOK RAIMIK GENTLY AWAKE. The sergeant grunted, sitting up abruptly, hand reaching for a blaster rifle he no longer possessed. He blinked at the dark-haired trooper, who grinned at him. “It's almost time,” Basun told him. “Derlin's gone with the Sheriff, to go over the final arrangements. They should be back, shortly.”

Raimik rubbed a hand across his face, nodding acknowledgement. “How's Luke?”

Basun shrugged. “The doc's not saying much, but he's still not in the pressure chamber. She's got a droid monitoring him.”

“She's worried. He should have woken by now,” Raimik supplied, swinging his legs off the bed and getting to his feet. “He should have come out of the anaesthetic...”

The door opened. Raimik looked across as Basun turned, expecting to see Derlin or Tarja. Instead, four stormtroopers moved into the room, rifles trained on them. Neither Basun nor Raimik had time to react. The squad leader was yelling at them, ordering them onto their knees, to put their hands behind their heads.

Fear spiking, knowing that there was no way out and fighting down the panic that the realisation brought, Raimik sank to his knees. Basun didn't move fast enough. A rifle butt swung towards his face. He tried to dodge, but it caught him across the temple, sending him sprawling to the floor. The stormtrooper shoved the muzzle of the blaster against his head, ordering, “On your belly, scum!! Hands behind your head!”

Along the corridor, Hobbie started awake. He lay for a moment, trying to work out what had woken him... then stormtroopers were flooding into the room, dragging him off of the bed, forcing him down onto the floor. Pain flared up his back and across his injured leg, pulling a hissed curse from his throat.

He didn't fight them, letting them manhandle him, gritting his teeth against the pain. His wrists were secured behind his back and then he was lifted by his arms, dragged out of the room and along the corridor.

oo0oo

Colonel Vyre followed the last of the stormtroopers through the front doors of the medical centre. Standing at ease, he watched as two men were escorted into the main waiting area and forced down onto their knees. They weren't in uniform but Vyre recognised them. Stormtroopers carried a third Rebel in, dropping him on the floor, ordering him back to his knees.

Vyre walked towards them, looking down at them. “Dav Raimik and Vedrik Basun...” he announced, smiling at them, “How good of you to join us.”

Raimik kept his gaze on the floor, knowing better than to look at the Imperial. Beside him, Basun did the same.

“Carasynthia Dune and Haarlan Gelnara should be joining us very soon,” Vyre supplied, moving along the little line of kneeling Rebels, stopping in front of the third man. “You,” he admitted, “I do not recognise. Name?”

Hobbie kept his gaze on the floor, saying nothing. Keeping quiet wasn't going to do him any favours but he was damned if he was going to make it easy for the Imperials. He was dragged to his feet. The Colonel looked him up and down, taking in the missing prosthetic. Smiling at him, the Colonel offered, “You appear to have lost something...”

Hobbie said nothing.

“Name!” the Colonel ordered.

Hobbie stayed quiet, looking straight ahead.

Vyre started to turn away, then swung back, backhanding the Rebel across the face. Hobbie's head snapped back, pain exploding through his jaw, his back protesting the sudden movement.

“Name!” the Colonel demanded again.

Hobbie swallowed blood, taking a breath, saving his strength by giving the Imperial the information he wanted. “Klivian...” he choked out. “Derek. Lieutenant-Commander”

Vyre smiled at him again, telling him, “You see? That wasn't so difficult, was it? How did you lose the foot?”

Stubborn determination kept Hobbie quiet. Then he doubled over, grunting in pain as Vyre drove a fist into his stomach. The stormtroopers dragged him upright. Vyre stepped closer. Voice dangerously quiet, he warned, “I believe that I can keep this up far longer than you can, Lieutenant-Commander...”

Movement from the door to the left drew his attention and he stepped away from Klivian, glancing across at Tarja Karsaar. Looking back at Klivian, he gave the man another, wide smile, telling him, “Perhaps I won’t need to…”

Turning away, moving towards Tarja Karsaar, he ordered, “Take me to Skywalker! And Derlin!”

On his knees on the floor, Raimik swore silently. Derlin had warned them that the Empire had identified all the members of the strike team, but hearing the Colonel say the names made everything seem, suddenly, far more final. Raimik closed his eyes, hoping that Wedge would somehow be overlooked, hoping that Dune and Gelnara would be safe out at the Alvessen place, despite what the Imperial had said.

oo0oo

“Derlin's not here,” Tarja told Vyre as the door closed behind them, “He must have slipped out when I was with Skywalker.”

Vyre snorted in displeasure at Derlin's disappearance, but assured her, “We'll find him. He can't have gone far! What news do you have of Skywalker?”

“It's not good, Colonel” she told him, leading the way down the corridor. “He's in some sort of a coma. I can't identify it, though. All the scans indicate that the brain injury was mild, but his response is indicative of a more severe trauma. He is not able to give a verbal response or open his eyes, but he can give a motor response: tightening his fingers in this case, in answer to questions. He's also been infected by the tree spores,” she went on. “I'm not willing to put him into the hyper-atmospheric chamber without knowing more about the coma, so I've put him on dialysis.”

She turned, walking through the open doors of a medical room. Vyre followed her, immediately recognising the blond man who lay propped up on the bed surrounded by medical equipment. Commander Luke Skywalker: hero of Yavin.

There were tubes leading into cannulas on his arms; dark, mottled bruising on his body and face. He appeared unconscious, unaware of the world around him.

Tarja moved across to the bed, checking the readings on the monitors, telling Vyre, “He's asleep.”

“Can he be moved?” Vyre asked, following her across to the bed, taking a closer look at the Rebel. He was younger than Vyre had expected. There were scars on his face, from a previous injury, as well as the bruising and cuts from the crash.

“He can, if necessary,” Tarja confirmed, “but I'd rather he wasn't.”

Vyre nodded, saying nothing. He was already courting Vader's displeasure by handing over Skywalker incapacitated and, therefore, unable to be questioned. Giving Vader Skywalker's dead body was the sort of thing that would prematurely end Vyre's career. Therefore, on this matter at least, he would take Karsaar's advice. “You said there was another Rebel infected by these spores?”

“This way,” Tarja told him, leading him out of the room. Vyre paused at the door, nodding to the two stormtroopers standing outside. “Have Skywalker secured to the bed,” he ordered. “I don't want him waking up and running.”

As the troopers moved into Skywalker's room, Tarja led the Colonel back along the corridor. Another squad of stormtroopers dropped in behind them. Vyre followed Tarja as she led him through the medical facility into an open area that contained two, large, cylindrical units. One of them was lying open. The other one was closed, sealed.

Vyre walked across, ordering, “Open it.”

Tarja hesitated. Torn between her duty as a loyal Imperial, and the oaths she had taken to save lives, she warned him, “I can't open it, Colonel. It's under pressure. If the pressure is released too quickly it could cause air bubbles in his blood! It could, potentially, kill him.”

Colonel Marek Vyre gave her a flat look then quirked an eyebrow. “He is a Rebel terrorist,” he reminded her. “That alone has already marked him for death!”

Tarja swallowed, then nodded. “Forgive me, Colonel. I forgot who he was. I was thinking as a medic.”

“Your compassion does you credit,” Vyre assured her. “Now, open the chamber.”

Tarja moved towards it, punching in the emergency release sequence, over-riding the warnings. There was a hiss of air as the pressure inside the chamber dropped to match the pressure outside. The door of the chamber released, clunking away from the rest of the cylinder before sliding aside.

The squad of stormtroopers marched across the room. Tarja took a hold of the gurney inside the chamber and drew it out.

The dark-haired Rebel looked at her, the confusion evident on his face. Then he saw the stormtroopers standing behind her. Tarja stepped aside, letting the troopers move in. They dragged the Rebel off of the gurney, forcing him face down onto the floor, dragging his arms behind his back.

Wedge fought them, almost pulling his hands free. A kick to his side pulled a grunt of pain from him and quieted him long enough for them to close the binders around his wrists. They grabbed his arms, dragging him to his feet.

Vyre moved towards him, looking him over. “Name?” he asked.

Wedge looked at him but stayed silent, fighting down the panic that threatened to swamp him. If he allowed the panic in, he would lose what little control he had in the situation. He had no idea if the others had been taken, or if Derlin had managed to get Luke and Hobbie out.

If Derlin had, he needed to buy them time.

Vyre sighed, his jaw tightening as irritation flared. He flexed his hand, curling it into a fist then drove it into the Rebel's stomach before swinging up, backhanding him across the face. The Rebel stumbled back a step and was dragged forward by the stormtroopers.

Blood trickled down his chin from his split lip.

“Name!” Vyre demanded again.

“Please,” Wedge evaded, wondering if he could get away with denying who he was. “I don't understand...”

The Imperial officer stepped in, grabbing his jaw, forcing the Rebel to meet his gaze. “It's very simple,” Vyre informed him, quietly. “You are a Rebel terrorist. I have already identified Skywalker and your other friends. However, like Klivian, you were not part of the team who infiltrated the Dendraali facility.”

The small hope that Wedge had nurtured about Derlin getting Luke and Hobbie out, disappeared. The Imperial Colonel had made it quite clear that he knew exactly who he had within his grasp. Wedge took a breath that hitched in his lungs. He coughed it back out then told the Colonel, “Antilles. Commander Wedge Antilles.”

Vyre smiled at him, letting go of his jaw. “There, now. That wasn't so difficult, was it?”

Turning away, Vyre ordered, “Bring him!”

The stormtroopers obeyed, dragging Wedge forward to follow the Colonel as he moved out of the room and back into the medical facility foyer. The doors opened ahead of Vyre and he walked through them, moving to stand in front of the three Rebels who were still on their knees. He watched the stormtroopers manhandle Antilles, forcing him down beside Klivian.

“We appear to be missing Major Derlin,” Vyre began after a moment. “It would be such a shame for him to miss our little get-together... but I have a feeling that none of you will willingly offer up his whereabouts?”

None of the Rebels moved, all of them staying silent.

Vyre smiled. “Discussing how to get off Vaaljajord, perhaps?” he ventured, letting the Rebels know that he understood exactly what had been going on since the ship crashed. “With the Sheriff? Or the Fire Chief?”

There was no reaction. “The Medical Specialist very helpfully informed me that your crash injuries had already been cared for by the time you were brought to her. And,” Vyre continued, moving to stand in front of Klivian, “someone had to cut this young man out of the wreckage of the ship...”

He nodded to two of the troopers, who reached for Hobbie, hauling him to his feet.

“That is how you lost the prosthetic, isn't it?” Vyre concluded, indicating the Rebel’s severed leg. “I would put my credits on the Chief and his Fire Jumpers, but the Sheriff and her people also have the sort of equipment it would have needed.”

He stepped closer to Hobbie, asking lightly, “So, whose door should I be knocking on to find Major Derlin? Sheriff Svioisaar? Chief Ulafssen? Or is Per Alvessen perhaps not as innocent as the medical specialist would have me believe?”

The blond Rebel said nothing. Vyre sighed softly, shaking his head. “Why do you people always make things so difficult?”

Stepping back, he drew his sidearm from its holster. Turning, he rested the muzzle of the blaster against Antilles' head. Looking at Klivian, he asked, again, “Where is Major Derlin?”

Hobbie glanced at Wedge. Then he swallowed, shaking his head, knowing that he couldn't stay silent any longer, “I don't know!”

Vyre thumbed off the safety catch. Tilting his head, quirking an eyebrow, he repeated softly, “Where is Major Derlin?”

“I don't know!” Hobbie told him again, panic beginning to rise. “I was asleep! The medic gave me stuff!”

“We were all asleep!” Raimik attempted. “Major Derlin was standing watch! Ask your men! We were only just awake when they took us!”

Vyre grunted a short, humourless laugh. “You want me to believe that your senior officer deserted his duty?”

“I don't know!” Raimik told him. “We were sleeping!”

Vyre turned, looking at Antilles. “What about you, Commander? Do you believe your Major abandoned his post?”

Wedge lifted his head, looking up at the Imperial. Drawing his shoulders back, eyes sparking defiance and pride, he told the Colonel, “Major Derlin would do whatever it took to ensure our safety.”

Vyre smiled. Then he backhanded the Rebel across the face with the blaster. The blow pushed Wedge sideways, pain and light exploding through his head. He landed on his side, stunned.

Vyre stepped across him, straddling him, looking down at him. “It appears that your Major hasn't done the best job of ensuring your safety.”

He aimed the sidearm at Antilles... and fired.

The sound of the blaster shocked through the other three Rebels. Hobbie reacted without thinking. Screaming in rage, he launched himself at Vyre. The stormtroopers dragged him back, kicking his leg out from under him, wrestling him to the ground.

Vyre turned, looking at the other Rebels. “Take them,” he ordered, “All of them. Dump them in the town square. It's time these Rebels and their sympathisers found out exactly what it means to stand against the Empire!”

oo0oo

“Sheriff?”

Ash turned, looking up at Deputy Zånder Olgenssen as he walked into the foyer of Lady Valda's establishment. Valda retained a clean, homely place of handsome men and beautiful women who would cater to just about any whim as long as the right price was negotiated. Valda had also been one of the first to lend her support to the non-cooperation faction, as had all of her retinue. It was the only place Per had deemed secure enough to have a final meeting between the remaining Rebels, the Sheriff, the Chief, himself and Lady Valda, whose retinue would play a part in getting the first four Rebel soldiers out of Malhördhem.

Ash could tell by Zånder’s expression that something was wrong. She pushed herself to her feet, moving to meet him, “What? What's happened?”

Zånder took a deep breath before telling her, “The medical facility has been compromised. Colonel Vyre...” He trailed off searching for the words to explain, then finally told her, “You should come see. The town hall square...”

Ash nodded assent. She turned. Derlin was already on his feet. She shook her head, telling everyone, “Stay here!” Then she followed Zånder to the door.

Anxiety stabbing through him, Derlin moved to follow, but Per stopped him. “Son... You need to wait. You need to trust her...”

Derlin looked at him, opening his mouth to protest. Then he realised that without knowing what was going on, he might only be adding to the problems. Relenting reluctantly, he nodded, turning and sitting down.

Ash followed Zånder along the street towards the town square. The thunder still rumbled ominously overhead and the rain had started again, the wind beginning to pick up. Ash turned the corner... and swore.

Raimik, Basun and Hobbie had been pushed to their knees beside the fountain in front of the town hall. Wedge Antilles lay on his side. All four had their hands secured behind their backs. They were surrounded by stormtroopers. Colonel Vyre was walking across the square towards them. A small crowd of townspeople were already beginning to gather.

“Tell Derlin,” she informed Zånder, “then find out where Skywalker is.”

“Will do, Sheriff,” the Deputy confirmed, turning away.

Ash pulled the comlink from her pocket. She needed her people here before the situation got any uglier. Across the square, she saw Erika appear. The Deputy began to pull the onlookers back as Ash ordered, “Kaysix, it's Sheriff Svioisaar. We have a situation in the town square. Colonel Vyre appears to have located the Rebels... but something else is going on. I don't want to spook the Imperials, so I need silent back-up.”

“Copied, Sheriff,” the droid confirmed. “I will alert all units.”

Putting the comlink back in her pocket, Ash walked across the road, heading towards Vyre. “Morning, Colonel,” she greeted as she reached him. “Mind telling me what's going on?”

He turned, smiling at her, “Sheriff Svioisaar! How good of you to join us! It appears that the Rebels were here after all!”

Ash turned, looking at the Alliance personnel. “I thought there were six of them... Who are you missing?” she asked.

“Only Derlin,” he supplied. “The other Rebels are in hand. But, just in case, I want an arrest warrant issued for a man called Per Alvessen. He and his wife are Rebel sympathisers.”

Ash swore silently, reaching into her pocket for her comlink as she looked back at Vyre. “Alvessen helped them?”

“My information indicates that might be the case,” he confirmed.

Ash nodded acknowledgement, beginning, “Kaysix, it's Sheriff Svioisar. I need someone to swing past the Alvessen place and bring Per in.”

“Copied, Sheriff,” the droid confirmed as Vyre contradicted, “There’s no need. I have already despatched troopers to find the place. I just need the arrest warrant.”

Ash looked back at Vyre, “Kaysix, issue an arrest warrant for Per Alvessen.” She glanced at the Rebels then looked back at Vyre, asking, “If you’re only missing Derlin, why are there only four here?”

“There are, in fact, eight,” Vyre supplied then continued, “but I think you may already be aware of that.”

Dread settling deep in her belly, Ash forced herself to remain calm. She frowned, then quirked an eyebrow. “I'm not sure I follow your meaning, Colonel...”

He gave her a tight, knowing smile, and Ash knew she was in trouble. “The Rebels we found in the medical facility had previously been given medical aid,” Vyre told her. “Someone had to have helped them. More importantly, someone had to provide the equipment needed to cut at least one of them from the wreckage.”

Ash was aware of movement behind her as stormtroopers moved in. She saw Vyre reaching for his sidearm. Instinct and training warned her to stay calm. She had known what she was signing up for when she had joined Per and the others. She had known what the outcome might be when she had made the decision to help save the survivors of the crashed Rebel ship.

“The only conclusion I can reach” Vyre was continuing, “is that either you or the Fire Chief, or possibly both of you, helped these Rebels hide from justice. The Fire Chief isn't here. You are. So you will do.”

Ash stood, unmoving, as Vyre drew his blaster and aimed it at her head. “Remove your sidearm, Sheriff Svioisar,” he ordered. “You are under arrest on charges of aiding and abetting terrorist factions operating within the Empire, and of obstructing the course of justice...”

“You're making a mistake,” Ash told him, moving carefully, slowly unbuckling her blaster belt.

“No, Sheriff,” Vyre countered as she took the belt off and placed it on the ground. “You are the one who made the mistake. Now,” he ordered, “use your comlink to inform Major Bren Derlin that unless he presents himself here, within thirty minutes, the next blaster bolt that hits Commander Wedge Antilles will not be a stun charge!”

oo0oo

Derlin sank into the chair, closing his eyes, trying to think clearly, but failing. Too much was going on. There was too much that he had no control over. He had little, accurate, intelligence information. There was nothing for him to work on, plan on... And now Ash had been compromised and thrown into the mix along with Per Alvessen.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Trying to ignore the nagging ache in his shoulder, he started to review what little information he had. They’d heard Ash ask for Per to be taken into custody. The old man had immediately tried to contact Hetta, but hadn’t been able to.

If Hetta, Dune and Gelnara had been taken at the homestead, it was possible that Artoo Detoo might have been overlooked. Even if it hadn't, Per had given him the data crystal that held a copy of all the information downloaded by Artoo on Dendraali. It contained details of the mind-wipe process, the locations of the facilities and the personnel held there. As long as that information reached Alliance lines, the mission would not be a failure... no matter what it cost.

And Derlin knew exactly what it was going to cost him.

He was trained in counter-intelligence. He was trained in misinformation. He was the only one who had any hope of persuading Colonel Vyre that Ash, Per, Hetta and the others were all innocent in this. He knew what that meant. He had no doubt about the punishment he would have to endure… but with an Imperial Colonel holding a blaster to Ash and Antilles’ heads, there was no other choice.

His position within Alliance Intelligence had been taken into account when he had been assigned to the Dendraali mission. Codes, passwords and other information had been changed or amended, contingency plans had been put in place, all to allow him to lead the mission. Damage to the Rebel Alliance would be limited. He stood up, reaching into his pocket, pulling the data crystal out.

“Per?”

The older man turned, looking at him. Derlin held the crystal out to him. “It's imperative that the information on here reaches the Rebel Alliance. It's everything the mission was about. It could save many lives. If the Imperials have left the Artoo unit behind, that needs to get back to Alliance lines too.”

Lady Valda looked at him, getting the sudden impression that Derlin might be about to give in to the Imperial Colonel and hand himself over. “Major,” she began, “if you're planning what I think you're planning, you need to step back a ways and rethink...”

Per glanced at Valda then looked at the data crystal in Derlin's hand. “Son... Why would I need that?”

“Major,” Valda interjected before Derlin could answer, “you can't give yourself up!”

Derlin looked at her. “I have no choice,” he told her. “Per and Hetta have been compromised, Ash has been arrested, and I’m the only one who can sort it.”

“Now, just wait up, son,” Per countered. “You're not thinking clear...”

“You've got no guarantee that the Colonel won't kill Ash, anyway,” Ulaf put in, “even if you do hand yourself over!”

“We were never meant to be here!” Derlin told them. “We have brought this down on you! Per, Hetta and Ash are compromised because...”

“No,” Per interrupted, “that’s what I’m trying to tell you, son! Ash is not compromised! Not yet! But if you go out there now, she will be!” He put his hand on Derlin’s shoulder, pointing out, “You heard what she said, son! The Colonel has arrested her on suspicion, only suspicion, of being involved with us! You go out there now and you'll be confirming it!”

Derlin looked from Per to Valda, finally understanding what Per was saying. The message Ash had broadcast under Vyre's orders had been transmitted over the Sheriff Bureau’s unique frequency. The only reason they had heard it was because they were with one of her Deputies… and if he was with a Deputy and not under arrest, it immediately implied complicity.

Despite Wedge having a blaster at his head, the only way Derlin could disprove Ash’s involvement, was to stay exactly where he was… even if that was signing Wedge’s death notice.

Per and Valda were right: he wasn't thinking clearly. He'd been thinking on his feet since the intruder alarm had gone off in the Dendraali facility and they'd been forced to fight their way out. It was beginning to tell. His only thought had been to protect Ash and stop the Colonel from shooting Wedge. It had never crossed his mind that Vyre had no proof.

He swore, rubbing a hand across his face. The whole situation had gone to hell. He was trapped: impotent. To save the Sheriff, he had no choice but to let Wedge die.

“Son,” Per began, “I can tell that shoulder is bothering you... And how long since you slept?”

The question drew another sigh from Derlin. He took a deep breath and then looked at the older man, admitting, “Too long.”

“I have stims upstairs,” Valda offered. “I'll get them...”

“Thank you, Ma'am,” Derlin told her. “That would be much appreciated.”

Valda turned away then hesitated, turning back to him. “You didn’t bring any of this down on us, honey,” she told him. “We all knew what we were doing, what might be asked of us, what we were risking. We’re all on the same side. There ain’t no need for you to protect us. If we’d wanted safety, we’d have branded Per a ‘crazy old man’ and handed him over to the Imperials… Turns out that we’re just as crazy as he is… as you are…”

She paused for a moment, looking around the group of people before turning her attention back to Derlin, reminding him, “You ain’t alone, honey. You’re with friends.”

“Valda’s right,” Zånder told Derlin before admitting, “Things are moving ahead of us a pace, but we just need to put our heads together, take time to look at it and we'll find some way out of this... for everyone.”

Derlin nodded, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “We will,” he agreed. “But,” he went on, holding up the data crystal, “whatever happens, this information has to get back to the Rebel Alliance.”

“We'll get it out for you,” Per assured him. “But Zånder is right: the situation has changed somewhat and we need to change tactics. We're out of our league here. Passing folks up the line, getting them out of Vaaljajord, that's one thing... Rescuing Ash and those boys from the town square, that's beyond what we have any resource for.”

“Don't mean we can't do it,” Ulaf offered. “Just means it might take us some time to get there...”

Per nodded. “But time is pressing. So…” He turned back to Derlin. “Son, forget the state of affairs out in the square, forget that Hetta and your people are missing. What do you need from us?”

Derlin considered the older man’s question. “Ideally? I need to make contact with the Rebel Alliance...”

“Then that's just what we'll do,” Per told him.

Derlin nodded, feeling more empowered, less helpless than he had done a few moments before. The situation was desperate, but it wasn't completely lost: not yet. He looked at the Sheriff’s Deputy. “Can you get me information on Colonel Vyre?” he asked. “I need to know his background, how he ticks. And what information has been given to the Empire. That'll give us an indication of how long we have...”


	8. Mission Abort + 17 hrs

_Mission Abort + 17 hrs_

_06:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

THE RAIN HAD EASED for the moment. The Imperial Colonel was still taking shelter in the portico of the town hall building. Raimik risked a glance across at Wedge as the pilot started coughing again. He still lay on his side, but he was conscious. Opposite the four Rebels, also on her knees, hands behind her head, the Sheriff looked at Antilles then glanced at Raimik.

All five of them were soaked. Ash was beginning to shiver as the cool wind swept through the town, flowing down from the mountains. The sky was light, but a heavy layer of cloud screened the tops of the mountains, cutting off any heat from the rising sun. The ominous rumble of thunder threatened more rain.

The half hour was almost up. News had spread fast and a crowd had gathered around the outside of the square, held back by stormtroopers. Ash could see some of her Deputies in position around the square. She also recognised Rebel-sympathetic Jumpers. There was no sign of Derlin. Ash found herself hoping that the Rebel Major wouldn't be stupid enough to hand himself over. It would gain them nothing. She had a feeling, however, that these people didn't leave folks behind and that Derlin wouldn't be able to stand back and do nothing with the lives of his people at risk.

She saw Vyre check his time piece and take a last draw on his tabbac stick before dropping it on the ground, grinding it out beneath the ball of his foot. He walked down the Town Hall steps.

Anxiety flared. Ash had no doubt that the Colonel would carry through with his threat to kill Antilles. She also had no doubts about the determination of the Rebels across from her. They would willingly give their lives for the cause that they believed in.

Vyre walked towards them, the blaster already in his hand. He moved past the Rebels, stopping in front of her. “It appears Major Derlin has decided to sacrifice his people, Sheriff.”

Ash lifted her head, looking up at him. “Or perhaps,” she offered, “he never got your message because you’ve reckoned it all wrong and I don’t have anything to do with this. And neither do my people!”

Vyre nodded, agreeing, “That is a viable argument... which is why I intend to send Derlin another message.” He turned, moving back to stand behind the Rebels. A stormtrooper handed him a small comlink. Vyre thumbed it on and his voice was amplified, echoing around the square and the growing crowd of residents.

“Residents of Malhördhem, your Sheriff has been arrested on suspicion of aiding and abetting these Rebel terrorists.”

A murmur swept across the crowd at the announcement.

“An ultimatum was given,” Vyre continued, “that unless the Rebels' Commanding Officer surrendered himself to me, one of these men would be executed. The allotted time-frame has expired. I, therefore, have no choice but to send another message to Major Derlin. Someone here knows where he is. Someone in Malhördhem is aiding these terrorists. Deliver this warning to Major Derlin! He has thirty minutes to present himself to me, here, or a second terrorist will be executed!”

Turning, Vyre aimed the blaster at the back of Raimik's head. He pulled the trigger.

The blaster shot punched the Sergeant forward. He fell, face-down on the ground, the back of his head a bloodied mess. A wave of shocked horror swept through the crowd.

For one, brief moment as Raimik fell forward, Hobbie entertained the hope that Vyre had used another stunbolt... but the blood that pooled slowly beneath the Sergeant's body swept away that hope. Hobbie looked at Raimik's body in shock. He’d pegged Vyre as a sadistic bastard. Now he knew his suspicions were true. He braced himself for the sound of the second shot, waiting for Wedge to die too.

“Colonel Vyre!” a woman's voice demanded.

The Imperial Colonel turned. A small, dark-haired woman in a smart business suit marched towards him from the edge of the crowd. She pushed past the stormtroopers who moved to stop her, ordering, “Get out of my way!”

Moving towards Vyre, she stopped in front of him, hands on her hips. “Colonel Vyre, this is unacceptable!” She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to speak. “I have no quarrel with the execution of Rebel terrorists,” she told him, “but such blatant, public execution is unacceptable! There are children present!”

Vyre quirked an eyebrow, asking, “And you are?”

“I am Mayor Gunnistsaar!” she informed him, “And you have made your point! I have no doubt that those aiding this Rebel Major will have scurried off to deliver your ultimatum. Therefore,” she went on, pointing at Raimik, “you will cover up that dead body! If it is entirely necessary, you may leave it here as a warning, but you will cover it up! And you will remove this public spectacle,” she went on, indicating the other Rebels, “to more secure surroundings! And allow Sheriff Svioisaar to return to her duties! Your assumption that she is involved is, quite obviously, flawed!”

Not used to being issued orders by a civilian, smarting at her accusation about Svioisaar's innocence, something he was not yet convinced of, Vyre drew himself up. Eyes narrowing in anger, his lips drawing into a tight line, he told her, “These Rebels were aided…”

“I don't deny that!” the Mayor interrupted, “but this is unacceptable! I have summoned Chief Ulafssen. Once he arrives, we can retire to the municipal offices and discuss the situation in depth!”

Vyre smiled at her, amused that this upstart government official had the audacity to believe that she had any sort of control and could issue him orders. Voice cold, he warned her, “You have no jurisdiction over me! Your government has had no jurisdiction over Vaaljajord politics since you allowed your disaffected youth to run riot. Your failures as a government have caused this 'unacceptable' situation!”

He stepped towards her. Behind her, stormtroopers moved in. “Your inability to effectively govern, as Mayor, has caused this situation!” He looked down on her, giving time for the words to sink in, letting the threat hang in the air. She glanced behind at the stormtroopers, then looked back at him and he saw the fear in her eyes. She had finally realised how little control she had over the situation, and how badly she had overstepped the mark.

“The Rebels will remain where they are until I deem otherwise,” he told Gunnistsaar. “Sheriff Svioisaar will remain where she is until I order otherwise. The dead Rebel will stay where he lies until Major Derlin delivers himself to me! And if Chief Ulafssen ever arrives, he will be taken into custody! Now,” he went on, giving her a cold smile, “are you going to force me to arrest you? Or are you going to turn around, scurry back to your ineffectual office, and wait for my orders?”

oo0oo

Zånder Olgenssen looked at his grandfather, telling him, "Erika's reporting that the Mayor confronted Colonel Vyre and ordered him to stand down. He sent her packing..."

Per quirked an eyebrow, commenting, "She ain’t going to be happy about that..."

"It could work to our advantage," Valda suggested. "If Vyre humiliated her in front of the townsfolk, she'll be looking for a way to stamp her authority all over him."

"We need to pull the townsfolk back," Ulaf put in. "Vyre's shooting people, and paying little attention to local officials. We can't take any chances."

Per nodded and looked at Zånder, who was already on his comlink, issuing instructions to the other Deputies. There was a commotion at the door and Per looked around. Three people were ushered into the foyer, wrapped in cloaks. They drew back their hoods, and Per almost moaned in relief as he recognised Hetta with Dune and Gelnara.

Per rushed to her, folding her in his arms, holding her close. He rested his cheek on her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. Voice breaking, he demanded, “Where have you been, old woman?”

She chuckled softly, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “We've been leading the Empire a merry dance,” she told him. “We'd already left when we got your warning about the medical centre, so we looped around a ways and came back here. It struck me that Malhördhem might be the last place the Imperials would expect us to come. And I reckoned that they'd have search patrols out between here and the city... I’m sorry, I didn’t dare answer you, in case it gave our position…”

Letting him go, pulling back to look up at him, she asked, “I saw the crowds near the town square. What's happening?”

“The Colonel dragged the Rebel boys down there,” Per told her, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “He's murdered the big sergeant, Hetta... Colonel Vyre ordered Derlin to give himself up. When he didn't, Vyre killed the sergeant.”

She looked at him, aghast, then turned to look at Dune and Gelnara. Derlin had obviously told them. The shock on their faces mirrored her own. “We need to get them out of here,” she told Per.

“That's going to be easier said than done,” he replied. “Derlin ain't for leaving his people to die... And the matter’s complicated by the Colonel arresting Ash. She's on her knees in the square with the Rebels. The only brightness on the horizon is that Derlin's contacted his people, made them aware of what's going on. They're going to contact us as soon as they've thought things through.”

Hetta took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Then we have to wait...”

“Derlin won't wait long,” Per warned. “We've already talked him out of giving himself up once. With the sergeant dead, I doubt we'll be able to do it again.”

“Hetta,” Lady Valda greeted, moving towards them, “we were so worried.”

Hetta turned, smiling at her, returning the embrace Valda gave her. “I was a might worried about myself there, for a time,” she admitted.

“Well, I sure am pleased to see you,” Valda told her, then went on, “And since our plans have changed, somewhat, I have rooms and official papers for the two Rebels you've just brought in. I can hide them here safely for as long as needed.”

“Per?”

Alvessen turned, looking at Ulaf. “I just heard from the Station,” the Fire Chief told him. "The Mayor's turned up, looking for me. Jarek says she's prowling like a caged mountain jat. There's no Imperials with her... I should go see what she wants."

“She challenged the Colonel," Valda told Hetta. "He sent her packing."

“She won't like that," Hetta commented then turned to Ulaf, "I'll come with you."

"You can't," Ulaf countered. "There's an arrest warrant out.”

"Only for Gransa Per," Zånder reminded him.

Ulaf opened his mouth and closed it again, knowing that he had already lost the argument. Hetta turned, kissing Per on the cheek.

“Be careful!” he warned her.

“I will,” she assured him, following Ulaf as the Fire Chief headed for the door.

oo0oo

Wedge lay on his side. Soaked and shivering in the cool wind, he concentrated simply on breathing. It was getting more difficult, though. He was having to take slow, careful breaths. Even so, he was fighting a losing battle. His breath finally caught in his lungs and he could do nothing to prevent the coughing fit that wracked through his body, pushing pain through his head.

Hetta's voice came back to him. _This will pass. You will be able to breathe soon... don't fight it..._

Wedge gave in, doing as Hetta had instructed earlier, telling himself that the coughing would pass, that he would be able to breathe again soon.

Hobbie glanced across at Wedge as the coughing deepened. Antilles was struggling. Hobbie had no idea how Basun and Ash were holding up, but he was beginning to struggle himself. The throbbing pain from the lacerations on his leg was intensifying and he wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be able to stay on his knees without the pain forcing him to move.

He considered feigning a faint, but he had a feeling that the moment he moved, the pain would be so intense that he wouldn't be able to stay silent.

The decision was taken from him. Stormtroopers grabbed his arms, dragging him to his feet. He clenched his jaw against the stab of pain that surged across his back and up his leg, unable to stop the small moan that escaped his throat. The troopers turned and carried him towards the Town Hall.

Vyre stood at the top of the steps, watching as the Rebel was dragged towards him. There wasn't much time left until Derlin's deadline. It was highly probable that he would get nothing out of Klivian, but the man had been injured, was in pain... and the drugs Vyre had access to were powerful. Anything was possible.

Turning, Vyre moved back inside the building. Behind him, the stormtroopers carried Klivian up the steps, following the Colonel as he led the way into the spacious entrance hall. Vyre would have preferred the confines of a detention cell to question the Rebel, but the hall boasted a sweeping, stone staircase that led up to the building's upper floor. Beneath the central section of the staircase, three wide archways gave access to another hall beyond.

A line had been hung from the stone balustrade above the central arch. The stormtroopers carried Klivian across the hall, dropping him on the floor beneath the arch. They bent down, unlocking the restraints around his wrists before turning him onto his back and fastening the restraints around his wrists again, this time in front of him.

Vyre walked forward as they dragged the Rebel off the floor. A third stormtrooper had moved in, securing Klivian's binders to the line. The Rebel struggled ineffectually against the stormtrooper’s grip, eyes sparking venom as he glared at Vyre… who smiled back at him.

From the other end of the entrance hall, the soft thrum of a droid pulled Klivian’s attention away from Vyre. The Colonel watched the man’s hatred turn to fear as the spherical, black, interrogation droid floated across the hall towards them. Vyre watched him swallow.

“I have inspected the remains of your ship,” Vyre began, “and I have seen the injuries that you and your dead, Rebel friends suffered. We both know that someone here in Malhördhem helped cut you free from the wreckage. We both know that, eventually, you will tell me who that was… So,” he offered, “before I am forced to make the situation more painful for you, who cut you out?”

Hobbie looked at him, glancing beyond him to the droid that hovered behind the Colonel’s shoulder. Taking a deep breath to try to calm the panic fluttering in his belly, Hobbie looked back at the Imperial Colonel. “Go to hell…”

Vyre sighed, shrugging at the Rebel's stubbornness. "So be it," he told Klivian, moving aside. Above them, a stormtrooper pulled on the line, hauling the Rebel's arms up.

Hobbie clenched his jaw against the pain that flared across his back as the muscles protested his spine being stretched, his wrists taking the weight of his body. The prosthetic pulled against the bone and he knew it wasn't going to be long before it became more painful than his back. Pain, however, was something Hobbie Klivian was more than familiar with. He had survived enough crashes, had lost an arm and a leg. He knew how to deal with pain. He knew how to live through it...

The interrogation droid moved in and Hobbie closed his eyes, fighting to push down the mounting panic, refusing to show any fear in front of the man who had just shot down Raimik in cold blood. Despite his resolve, a soft grunt of fear escaped his throat as the droid slid a hypodermic into his arm. The cold fluid burned its way down into his vein.

Vyre watched him. The droid withdrew the needle from the Rebel's arm and moved slowly backwards. Drawing out his sidearm, Vyre walked towards the Rebel. “The medical specialist tells me that you have a prosthetic arm as well as leg,” he began.

Hobbie opened his eyes, glaring at him.

Vyre smiled back at him, pleasantly. “I believe we should conduct an experiment,” he went on, changing the setting on the blaster. “I propose that we find out what fails first under slow-burn conditions: the alloy of the prosthetic, or the bone to which it’s attached…”

The Rebel tried hard to hide it, but the fear flashed across his face.

"There will come a point," Vyre warned, "when the drugs and the pain will drive the information out of you. You will tell me everything I want to know about your rescue from the wreckage of the ship..."

He nodded to one of the stormtroopers, who stepped in, using a vibroblade to cut away the shirt the Rebel wore. As it fell to the floor, Vyre reached out. Running his hand up the Rebel’s arm from shoulder to wrist, Vyre smiled when he felt the slight change where the prosthetic skin met human skin. It was almost the same, but not quite...

Lifting the sidearm, Vyre rested it against the prosthetic, just above the joint with the Rebel's arm... and activated the blaster.

oo0oo

General Rieekan stood at the open hatchway of the ship beside Captain Shawn Valdez, watching as the Princess Leia Organa walked towards him. She was deep in conversation with Palo Torshan. There was little sign of the diplomat and ‘Princess’ that Rieekan had first met, years ago, before the destruction of Alderaan. Instead, the woman walking towards him was a mission-hardened soldier.

Leia was in command of the rescue mission to Malhördhem: Shawn Valdez her second-in-command. Aboard the ship, Commander Toryn Farr’s assault unit waited for them both.

Torshan had briefed them all on the Vaaljajord route and the people responsible for running it. He had also briefed them on Malhördhem, on Major Derlin’s report of the current situation, and on Colonel Marek Vyre.

Rieekan had a bad feeling about this rescue mission. After the briefing, he had voiced his misgivings. His concerns weren't just about allowing Leia to go into such an unpredictable situation, but about the potential presence of the Lord Darth Vader.

Leia, Solo and Chewbacca had been drawn into a trap laid by Vader to snare Luke Skywalker. The events of Bespin had cost Skywalker his hand and Solo his freedom. Skywalker and Vader were both involved in this situation, too. The upgrade to the initial alert had come from the _Executor_ , Vader's ship.

The Princess had quietly countered that she knew less intelligence-sensitive information than Bren Derlin, and that the presence of such a senior member of the Alliance would reassure the Malhördhem faction, who had risked everything to lend aid to the survivors of the downed ship. It would also confirm the importance of the Vaaljajord Route to the Alliance.

In the face of that, Rieekan had withdrawn his objection... but the nagging concern stayed with him.

“As soon as you set course, I’ll contact Malhördhem and inform them that help is on the way,” Torshan was telling Leia.

“Thank you, Major,” she replied, turning her attention to Valdez. “Are we locked and loaded, Captain?”

“We are, Ma’am,” he confirmed.

“Good,” Leia smiled, then went on, “Major Torshan has the most recent intelligence. I’ll join you shortly.”

“Ma’am,” Valdez confirmed, taking a datapad from Torshan and nodding acknowledgement to him before heading into the ship.

Leia turned her smile on Rieekan. “General."

"Your Highness," Rieekan countered. Then, tilting his head, quirking an eyebrow, he warned her, "Be careful..."

"We will," Leia assured him. Resting her hand gently on his arm she told him, "I know your concerns, General. I won't deny that they are valid... but Major Torshan's intelligence puts the _Executor_ in orbit around Dendraali. Even if Vader decides to arrest Luke, personally, we’ll be at Vaaljajord before him. If everything goes as we hope, the Empire will have no idea we’re even in Malhördhem, until it’s too late."

Rieekan nodded, knowing that he could give no argument that would prevent Leia from leading this mission. “Bring them back to us, Princess.”

“We will,” she assured him. Then she turned, heading into the ship. The airlock slid closed behind her and she moved through the ship towards the flight deck, nodding to the already-seated strike team.

As she walked through the flight-deck door, Toryn Farr glanced at her from the pilot’s seat. “We have departure clearance, Your Highness,” she confirmed

Leia nodded, ordering, “Take us out, Commander.”

oo0oo

Despite the number of stormtroopers in the town hall square, there had been none in the surrounding streets. Hetta and Ulaf had made their way, unhindered, to the Fire House and slipped in through the rear of the building. The raised voice from the upper floor told both of them where the Mayor was.

Hetta smiled, shaking her head as she and Ulaf made their way up the stairs towards the commotion. Agnessa Gunnistsaar was a consummate politician and excellent organiser. She was the ideal person to hold the position of Mayor, and the Malhördhem council had worked efficiently beneath her direction for the previous ten years. Gunnistsaar, however, had little patience when she knew that people were stone-walling her. Hetta felt a rush of sympathy for the Jumper who was now the focus of Gunnistsaar’s anger.

“…completely unacceptable! I don’t care what sort of duties are keeping Chief Ulafssen from appearing here, but I will not stand for it, do you hear? We have an intolerable situation on our hands, and I currently have only half the information I need! And an overbearing, objectionable, immoral, power-hungry, jumped-up excuse of an Imperial Colonel running rough-shod over everything! Get a hold of Chief Ulafssen, right now and…”

“Mayor,” Ulaf interrupted, walking ahead of Hetta through the open door of his office.

Gunnistsaar turned, looking at him. The ire instantly evaporated from her expression, replaced by relief. The tone of her voice, however, left Ulaf in no doubt about her displeasure. “Chief Ulafssen! I appreciate that you have other duties but, really! Did my personal request for your presence not indicate that it was important?”

“My apologies, Mayor,” Ulafssen told her, looking suitable remorseful. “I got here as soon as I could…”

“Yes… well…” Gunnistsaar replied, backing down, her normal business-like manner reasserting itself. She turned to the Jumper, telling him, “My apologies, Sergeant. I should not have taken my displeasure out on you.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, telling her, “You were only doing your job, Mayor.” Then he turned, throwing a quick salute at Ulafssen, nodding to Hetta and disappearing out of the door.

“Have you seen this?” Gunnistsaar asked, indicating the window. From Ulafssen’s office you could see the town hall and half the square. It gave a good view of Ash and the Rebels.

“I’ve been fully briefed,” Ulaf confirmed, moving across to look out the scene. He frowned, turning to look at Hetta. “One of the Rebels is missing…”

“They took him inside the town hall,” Gunnistsaar supplied. Then, ever direct, she asked, “Are you involved in this, Chief?”

Ulaf looked at her, knowing better than to try and bluff her. “You are asking if I aided a young man by cutting him free of the wreckage of a crashed ship. Yes, Mayor, I did. I took an oath to preserve life,” he reminded her. “That oath did not involve picking and choosing whose lives I saved.”

“And is the Sheriff also involved in this?”

Ulaf said nothing, unable to lie to her.

Gunnistsaar looked back at him, anger clouding her face for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak… then closed it again, dragging in a deep breath. Fists clenched, she closed her eyes, letting her breath out slowly. When she opened her eyes, the ire had vanished. Instead, she sighed, crossing the office to look out of the window towards the square where the Sheriff and the Rebels had been left in the rain. Shaking her head, she sighed again. “How do I condone this?”

“Agnessa...” Hetta began.

Gunnistsaar looked at her. “Hetta, we have been friends all our lives. You and I stood on opposite sides of the political rostrum long before Emperor Palpatine founded this great Galactic Empire… and I have always valued the fact that our political beliefs have never come between us, never tainted the friendship we shared. You know where I stand. You know I have always supported the Empire. I have always believed that the Emperor stood for a safe and progressive society… But that man,” she went on, pointing in the direction of the square, “that man shot an unarmed prisoner, in cold blood, in front of the people I pledged to serve.”

She shook her head and, for the first time since Agnessa Gunnistsaar had accepted the position of Mayor, Hetta saw her looking lost, unsure of her convictions and her authority.

“If the people of Malhördhem were to ask me, right now, if I condone the execution of an unarmed man without trial, what do I answer?”Agnessa asked.

Hetta took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “What did you tell them when they asked if torturing our grandchildren was, in any way, protecting them?”

Gunnistsaar looked at her, knowing that she was referring to the riots that had brought Imperial oversight to Vaaljajord. "That was different," she began. "That was destructive, civil unrest... But," she went on, "I do understand the point you are trying to make... and,” she admitted, “the answer is that I never had to find a reply, because no-one ever asked that question of me. Until thirty minutes ago, I would have defended everything that happened over those few, turbulent days. But how can I condemn the Chief as a seditionist for refusing to stand aside and allow those boys to burn to death?"

She sighed, looking back out of the window to where the Sheriff and the Rebels were being held in the rain of the gathering storm. "And seeing that young soldier being so casually disposed of by an over-zealous vigilante... That I cannot let lie at rest..."

Hetta traded a look with Ulaf, knowing that the Mayor's change in heart could be as big a hindrance to them as it might be an asset. If the Mayor started pushing her political weight around, it could make the situation even worse. "Agnessa," she warned, "do you understand the gravity of the path you are suggesting? You just said that the Colonel and his troops make no differentiation between good intentions and sedition. If you make any move to help those Rebels, everyone you have pledged to serve will be branded as traitors... accused of treason..."

Gunnistsaar sighed. Sinking into the nearest chair, she rubbed a hand across her face. Duty called on her to protect the people she served... but how could she face those people if she did nothing now? She took a deep breath, aware that her anger and disgust might be overriding common sense. Looking at Hetta, she shook her head, asking, "What do I do?"

Sighing softly, Hetta sat down opposite her. Knowing that she was taking an enormous risk, but also knowing that her friend deserved the truth, she began, "Agnessa..." Then she hesitated, glancing at Ulaf before looking back at the Mayor. "You are looking to the wrong person for council... because my granddaughter died on Hoth. And eight hours ago those Rebels were being given care in my home."

oo0oo

Luke drifted awake to the gentle hiss of a respiration mask and the soft beep of a heart monitor. He lay still, listening to the sounds, memories of the previous hours filtering slowly in. The ship had crashed. He had been injured. The Force had deserted him… but he was being helped, hidden in a medical centre…

“ _AS-two-two-six, report!”_

The electronically modulated voice stabbed panic through Luke. Stormtroopers! And they were close...

“ _Control, AS-two-two-six: no activity to report. Skywalker is still secure_.”

Terror swept through Luke. His heart pounded in his chest. The monitor beside him began to chime an alarm.

They had been found! The Empire had found them! And he was trapped inside his own body, unable to help himself let alone anyone else. More than that, they knew who he was… and if they knew who he was it was only a matter of time before his father arrived to claim him.

_Join me and I will complete your training! Join me, and we can rule the galaxy as father and son!_

A small voice of calm pushed into Luke's mind. The Force had deserted him. His father would be unable to complete any training. Shut inside his body, unable to communicate, without the power of the Force running through him, he was of no advantage to Vader in whatever scheme the Sith Lord had devised to overthrow Palpatine.

Luke held onto that thought, using it to calm the panic fluttering in his belly. And then the fear began to roil again as he realised that his father might know why the Force had deserted him. Of all the people in the galaxy, Vader might be the only one who could pull him out of the Force-blind stupor he had been thrown into since the crash. And powerless, unable to defend himself, he had no hope of evading Vader this time…

oo0oo

Sheriff Deputy Sigurd Arnassen approached the Alvessen place cautiously. It appeared to be deserted, but Vyre had supposedly dispatched a squad of stormtroopers to search the place and he wasn’t going to take any chances of walking into them when they would, most likely, shoot first and ask questions later.

There were no vehicles. Had Hetta made it out? The ground was sodden, muddy. Footprints warned of troops having tramped around the immediate area of the homestead.

“Hello?” he called, walking up the front steps. “Sheriff Bureau: Deputy Arnassen! Anyone home?”

The house remained silent. The door opened at his approach and he moved inside, keeping his hands out, palms forward: unthreatening. “Hello?” he called again. “Per? Hetta? You here? I need to talk with you…”

He knew, of course, that Per wasn’t here, but with troopers possibly hiding inside, he was covering his backside by calling the older man’s name too. The house remained stubbornly silent.

He walked through to check the kitchen, then tried upstairs before heading back out the front door and walking around the house. There were no signs of life…

Would Hetta have risked running with the droid? Or would she have hidden it somewhere on the property? Pulling his comlink from his pocket, he keyed it, asking, “Kaysix? Slice me through to Olgenssen?”

“One moment,” the unit told him. There was a short delay, then Zånder answered, “Sig? What you got?”

“Place is ghost-like,” Sigurd told him. “Nobody here but me and the bugs. Don’t look like the Imperials have been here, either...”

”Things ain’t ghost-like in town,” Zånder warned. “The dead Rebel’s still lying in the square and Colonel Vyre ain’t about to be easily convinced that the Sheriff ain’t involved in hiding them all.”

The Deputy’s voice paused then went on, “Madam Valda’s is still open for business, though. All her sabacc crew have arrived for their usual game…”

The tight knot of concern in Sigurd’s belly unfurled a little. Zånder had just confirmed that Hetta, and probably the two other Rebels, were safe at Valda’s.

“Well, ain’t that eating the pie,” Sigurd quipped, trying to push as much derision into his voice as he could, knowing that the frequency was probably being monitored. “I’m heading back to you,” he went on.

“Check Alvessen’s shed before you leave,” Zånder told him. “The old man won’t have left his tools if he was fixing to leave.”

Sigurd turned, looking across at the out-building. If Zånder wanted him to check the place out, it meant there was something there for him to find… Probably the Artoo unit… “Copied,” he confirmed, heading towards it. “I’ll take a look.”


	9. Mission Abort + 17.5hrs

_Mission Abort + 17.5hrs_

_06:30 - Malhördhem Local Time_

“NO!” CARA DUNE WAS EMPHATIC. Even so, she kept her voice down, reticent to undermine Derlin’s authority in front of the Malhördhem resistance. “You can’t do this, Sir!”

“Stand down, Trooper,” Derlin cautioned.

“With all due respect, Sir,” Gelnara countered, “I have to agree with her.”

“Sir,” Cara tried again, “you can’t hand yourself over. It’s suicide…”

“It’s the only option,” Derlin supplied, voice calm. “Antilles is seriously ill, and both Klivian and Basun are injured. They won’t stand a chance against Vyre.”

“You’re injured!” Cara pointed out. “I’m not! Let me go!”

“If you were the one Vyre wanted, I’d consider it. But you’re not,” Derlin countered, softly. He looked at Gelnara then back at Dune, reminding them, “Alliance Command are working on an exit strategy. All I need to do is stall Vyre until Alliance help gets here. Per and his people do good work, but they don’t have the experience of fighting the Empire that we do. I need you both right here, liaising with them and with the Alliance.” He stopped, taking a deep breath before admitting, “I need someone savvy here to make sure no-one gets left behind in the confusion of an extraction. I need to know that someone will have our backs, someone that I trust to bullseye Vyre before he puts a blaster bolt in our heads rather than let us escape.”

Face grim, Cara gave in. “I can do that.”

“Understood, Sir,” Gelnara confirmed.

Derlin pulled a data crystal from his pocket, handing it to Dune, “This is a copy of everything Artoo Deetoo downloaded on Dendraali. It has to get back to the Alliance.”

Dune nodded, taking the crystal, remembering the rows of tanks within the Imperial facility: tanks where captured Rebel personnel were being re-educated to fight against the Rebellion. “Can I bullseye Vyre even if he doesn’t put a blaster to your head?”

“Major, you’ve got five minutes,” Per told him before he could answer.

Derlin looked across at him, nodding acknowledgement. Then he looked back at Gelnara and Dune. “You have your orders.”

“Yes, Sir,” they confirmed.

oo0oo

Wedge tried to remain calm as the coughing deepened again. He tried to do what Hetta had told him, to let the fit take him, not to fight it... but he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. His heart was racing, the blood pounding in his ears. Darkness hovered at the edge of his vision.

Then, finally, the tight band around his chest began to release. He dragged in a ragged breath, coughing it back out. Then he dragged in a second, and a third. His heart responded to the increase in oxygen, gradually slowing, the darkness receding. Exhausted, Wedge lay shivering in the cool air, the sodden clothing clinging to his skin. Pain throbbed in his face where the Imperial Colonel had backhanded him with the blaster.

Sheriff Ashtor Svoioisaar watched Antilles, her face grim. The young man needed medical attention, but she knew he wouldn’t receive it. Colonel Vyre was more likely to put a blaster bolt in his head. She glanced across at Basun, then looked above him at the chronometer on the town hall building. Vyre’s second deadline had almost expired.

Ash dropped her gaze, looking at the doors. She had an idea of what might be going on inside. She hoped she was wrong, but instinct told her that Hobbie Klivian wasn’t having a peaceful, little chat with Colonel Marek Vyre.

Movement to her left caught her attention and she looked over. Beyond the stormtroopers’ cordon, Derlin walked slowly towards the square, his hands held away from his sides to show that he was unarmed. Ash swore. Part of her wanted to scream at him, to tell him not to be so stupid, to tell him to turn and run. The other part of her acknowledged his courage, accepting that there was never going to be any other outcome. Derlin would never abandon his people, no matter what the personal cost.

Was that why Mønaeg Ericssaar had died on Hoth? Could Mønaeg have escaped, survived the Empire’s attack, but had gone back to help the injured?

“Major Bren Derlin, Rebel Alliance Forces,” she heard him tell the stormtroopers. “I believe your Colonel wants a word with me.”

She saw Basun turn to look at the Major. Then he was pitched forward onto the ground as the stormtrooper behind him slammed the butt of his rifle into his back. Reaching down, the trooper dragged Basun off the ground and back onto his knees.

Stormtroopers surrounded Derlin. They grasped his arms, securing his hands behind his back. Derlin studiously ignored the Sheriff and Basun as the troopers pushed him forward, escorting him toward the steps of the Town Hall. Fear fluttered in the pit of his stomach. Back at Madam Valda’s he had been sure in his conviction, determined that this was the right thing to do. Now that he was here, his resolve was faltering. But it was too late… He was committed…

The stormtroopers pushed him up the front steps of the building. The doors opened.

Derlin heard the choked scream that faltered to a stop and anger swept in to replace the fear. If the scream hadn’t been enough to give him all the confirmation he needed that he had done the right thing in surrendering himself, then the sight of Hobbie did. Beneath the sweeping, stone staircase to the upper floor, the pilot hung from a line. Even from across the hall, Derlin could smell the stench of burning, could see that the skin of Hobbie’s prosthetic arm was charred and blackened, peeling away to reveal the alloy beneath.

The stormtroopers pushed the Major further into the hall. Hobbie lifted his head, looking across at Derlin. Then his head snapped back as Vyre backhanded him across the face. Hobbie reeled, collapsing against the restraints, blood dripping from his mouth.

Derlin drew his anger deep into his gut, feeling it turn cold and controlled: vowing that, if he got out of this alive, he was going to take great pleasure in making Vyre pay for this. Cara Dune was going to have to stand in line.

The Colonel had turned towards him. Slipping the sidearm into the holster at his hip, Vyre gave the Rebel Major a wide, pleasant smile. “Major Derlin,” he greeted. “I have been most anxious to meet you!”

Derlin looked back at him, expression cold. “I was rather hoping to avoid you,” he countered, “but I heard you were executing people.”

Vyre shrugged, telling him, “An acceptable loss… at least on my part. The only Rebels I have any interest in are you, my dear Major, and Commander Skywalker.”

He pulled a comlink from his pocket, thumbing it on, ordering, “Vence, inform Lord Vader that we have located the missing Rebels and that Derlin and Skywalker have been secured.” He slid the comlink back into his pocket without waiting for the Lieutenant's confirmation, walking across to Derlin. “Lord Vader is very interested in meeting you, Major. However, the Executor is currently orbiting Dendraali, leaving us plenty of time for a quiet, little chat…”

Derlin matched Vyre’s gaze for a moment, his heart sinking. If Vader was on the way, the chances of them getting out of this had just been slashed. Even if the Rebel Alliance managed to send a rescue team and it arrived before Vader, they might not be able to do anything. All that he and the others could do now, was damage control. They had to hold out for as long as they could.

Derlin looked past Vyre to where Hobbie Klivian hung, barely-conscious, from the length of wire. Turning his attention back to Vyre, he warned, “You won’t find me as easy to influence as an injured man.”

Vyre grinned at him. “Let’s test your theory, shall we? But somewhere a little more… intimate.” He turned to the stormtroopers, indicating Klivian, ordering, “Cut him down! Bring them both!”

Derlin didn’t fight as he was turned and pushed forward. He did, however, risk a glance behind at Hobbie, seeing the stormtroopers slice through the line with a vibroblade. Hobbie crumbled to the ground. Two troopers dragged him up, carrying him between them.

“So, tell me, Major,” Vyre asked pleasantly, pulling Derlin’s attention away from the injured pilot, “is your presence in Malhördhem anything to do with the so-called Vaaljajord Route to the Rebel Alliance? Or was it simply a happy coincidence that your ship crashed here?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derlin told him.

Vyre sighed, shaking his head, warning, “If you continue to lie to me, Major, your position is going to become very painful, very soon.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derlin repeated.

Vyre stopped, turning. “You appear to be labouring under a misguided sense of obligation towards those who tried to conceal you from Imperial justice,” he accused before warning, “Your evasion and denial will not save them. The people of Vaaljajord were lost the moment they allowed their students to rise up in defiance of the Empire and in support of the Rebel cause.”

Vyre took a step closer to him, smiling coldly. “The Emperor has simply been biding his time. Vaaljajord will shortly stand as an example of the punishment destined to be delivered to all those who would support your Rebel insurgency. Your losses in the Hoth system are only the beginning of the terrors about to be visited on not just your Rebel Alliance, but those who support you. In a very short time, the Rebellion will be abandoned by all but the most fool-hardy supporters. No one will dare hold their hand out to you.”

He paused, leaning in closer. Voice dangerously quiet, he supplied, “And you will play your part in that, Major. There is no execution order in your file. You will not follow your father into death."

He paused again, watching for a reaction, but Derlin's face remained impassive. Smiling, Vyre continued, "We both know what is contained in the information you stole from Dendraali, Major. So you will understand that the Emperor has a far more useful future planned for you than death...”

Derlin surged forward, reacting to the shock, anger and disgust as the full implication of Vyre’s words slammed through him. His shoulder protested the movement, but he ignored it. They planned to turn him. They planned to mindwipe him and throw him into the ranks of the Imperial forces, just as they had done to Zev Senesca, just as they were doing to the Rebel personnel caged within the Dendraali facility.

Vyre laughed, stepping away as the stormtroopers dragged the Major back.

"I will take great delight in watching you being put into a seclusion tank," Vyre told him, "right beside Skywalker... should he ever recover from his current situation. Right now, however, you have information I want."

He turned, leading the way out of the Town Hall’s grand entrance, walking down the steps into the square. He paused at the bottom, turning to look at Derlin as the stormtroopers manhandled the Rebel Major down the stone steps.

“Tell me,” Vyre asked, “was your decision to surrender yourself an act of common decency? Or was it because the lives of your men had been threatened?”

When the Major remained silent, Vyre stepped forward, smiling at him. Drawing his sidearm from the holster at his hip, Vyre continued, “I only ask because, if you thought the gesture a noble one which would somehow save them from the full weight of Imperial justice, I’m afraid I have to disillusion you. They signed their own death notices when they defected to sedition.”

Dread settled deep in the bottom of Derlin’s spine. He looked at Vyre, at the blaster the man was now holding in his hand. He shook his head, trying to move forward, to stop what he knew was about to happen... but the stormtroopers hauled him back. “No!” he tried, struggling to break the stormtroopers' hold. "No!"

Vyre aimed the blaster pistol, pulling the trigger. The force of the blaster shot pushed Basun sideways.

Derlin stopped struggling and looked on in horror as Basun’s body slumped to the ground to lie beside Raimik’s, his head and face a blooded mess. Dragging his eyes away from the two, dead soldiers, Derlin looked at Vyre. Cold, hard anger settled deep in his belly. A curse formed on his lips, bringing Vyre’s parentage into question, but Derlin bit down on it, knowing that it would only result in another death and that this time it would either be Antilles or the Sheriff.

Vyre stepped towards him, telling him, “You see, Major! In the end, no-one will dare hold their hand out to help the Rebel Alliance! Fear of reprisal will force your allies to desert you! And when you are crawling on your knees, the Empire will wipe you out!”

He stepped back, looking at the stormtroopers, ordering, “Take him away!”

oo0oo

Fire Chief Ulaf Ulafssen swore, softly and succinctly, his hands tightening into fists as he watched the Imperial Colonel move across the square towards the jailhouse. Standing beside Ulaf, Mayor Agnessa Gunnistsaar turned away from the window, looking at Hetta.

“He just killed another of those boys…”

“Basun,” Ulaf supplied. “The one with the shoulder injury.”

Hetta said nothing, her heart sinking… but she had heard the change in Agnessa’s attitude. The Mayor was no longer seeing the Alliance personnel as Rebels: she was seeing them as boys.

“Damn him!” Gunnistsaar swore. “Damn him and his Tarkinistic attitude!” She looked from Hetta to Ulaf, Vyre’s words sweeping up into her mind. _You have no jurisdiction over me! Your inability to effectively govern, as Mayor, has caused this…_

Was that what she had been reduced to: a puppet figure, to run and jump at the beck and call of a sadistic autocrat?

She sank into a chair, running a hand across her face, knowing that it was. She had been a politician for a long time. She had celebrated Palpatine’s new galactic empire in the wake of the Jedi sedition. She had accepted the dissolution of the Senate, confident in the Emperor’s ability to govern a safe and secure society. But she had also seen things, and heard things. She had dismissed any misgivings in her certainty of the Emperor’s grand plan. Now, however, Vyre’s accusations settled heavily around her… because they were true. The central government had held no power since the student riots. All they had been doing was managing Vaaljajord affairs under the direction of the Empire.

The Emperor had promised, and delivered, stability. Agnessa had welcomed the direct Imperial involvement in Vaaljajord politics as an extension of that: returning stability in the wake of a display of passionate but misplaced beliefs that had burned out of control.

But Vyre… Vyre was something different. His brand of stability was something more sinister. And Agnessa had never agreed with those, such as the Grand Moff Tarkin, who had advocated rule by fear.

She had wondered, briefly, after the death of the first Rebel soldier, if Emperor Palpatine knew that men such as Vyre held sway over loyal citizens. Now she was beginning to listen to the quiet voice of dissension in the back of her mind which was warning her that, even if he didn't, the order for Vyre to desist would arrive too late.

Galactic politics, she realised, were no longer relevant. Whether Vyre's actions had been officially sanctioned or not, was no longer important. All that mattered was the safety of the people of Malhördhem. Agnessa had sworn an oath to serve them. She had prided herself on doing that job to the best of her ability, on making decisions on behalf of the citizens that would benefit them. If that included them being saved from witnessing the horror of boys being shot in the back of the head, then so be it.

Looking back at Hetta, Agnessa asked, softly, “Are you and Per in contact with the Rebel Alliance?”

“No,” Hetta told her, truthfully. “But we know those who are.”

“Then I suggest that you contact them,” Agnessa told her. “Find out if they can help. I don't believe it will serve any good for Vyre to see me as anything other than Ineffectual Mayor, but I give you my word that I will do whatever I can to help you and the Rebellion get those boys out of that vile man's clutches. And,” she went on, “if that means the Rebels having to take the Sheriff with them when they leave, so be it. She'll be a great loss to Malhördhem, but I will not sit back and let Colonel Marek Vyre publicly execute anyone else.”

Hetta smiled at her, relief and pride flooding through her. Agnessa Gunnistsaar had always been fair and unbiased, no matter her politics. She believed in the Empire, but she also believed in doing the right thing by the people of Malhördhem. She had been thrown into a situation where she was completely out of her depth, and instead of sinking, she was holding her head above the water by looking for help from people she knew had more control over the situation, even if it was only marginally so.

“I believe that the Rebel Alliance already have people on their way here,” Hetta told her.

Agnessa nodded then turned to Ulaf. “Chief Ulafssen, you have served this town well for many years, but I can't allow you to remain in your position, otherwise you'll be dragged into that square, too. So,” she ordered, “I want your recommendation for a new Chief, your resignation on my desk, and you leave with the Sheriff! Do I make myself clear?”

Ulaf was bristling, drawing himself up. “Now, wait just a minute...”

“Colonel Vyre intends to question you!” Agnessa countered, her tone brooking no argument. “I will not allow you to be the next one who dies at his hand. Now,” she went on, “are you going to give me a recommendation for Chief, or will I be forced to choose for myself?”

Ulaf looked to Hetta for help, but Hetta shook her head, telling him, “I'm sorry, son. The Mayor has a point.”

Ulaf looked from one woman to the other then sighed softly, knowing that he was beaten. He ran his hand across his face. “Enna Jarkasaar,” he told Agnessa. “She will serve you well as Chief...”

Agnessa quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head, asking him, “Was Enna involved in the rescue of the Rebels?”

Ulaf shook his head, confirming, “She was not, Mayor. She was in charge of removing the dead Rebels from the tail of the ship. And all of the Jumpers respect her. None of them will question her appointment or her commitment.”

oo0oo

The Lord Darth Vader turned as Admiral Piett stopped a few steps behind him.

“My Lord,” Piett began, “we have confirmation from Vaaljajord. Colonel Vyre has secured the Rebel terrorists.”

Anticipation flared in the pit of Vader's stomach and he demanded, “Derlin and Skywalker?”

“Are among those arrested,” Piett confirmed. “However, Colonel Vyre reports that Skywalker was seriously injured in the crash. He is in a critical condition and appears to be comatose.”

Fear and concern flowed in to replace the anticipation. Luke was alive... but seriously injured. The injury would explain the brief, strangled disturbance in the Force before everything had gone silent. “Inform Moff Jarvek that the Rebels have been found and set course for Vaaljajord!” Vader ordered. “The Emperor is not impressed with the delay in delivering Bren Derlin to him.”

Piett nodded, acknowledging, “Yes, my Lord,” before moving away, issuing the orders.

Vader turned back to look out at the bulk of the grey-green planet of Dendraali. Luke was badly injured: comatose... It might be impossible to finish his training.

Cold, hard dread settled deep in the pit of Vader's stomach. He tightened his hold on his emotions, forcing himself to remain calm. All the carefully-laid plans, all the patient biding of time might have been for nothing. Without Luke, without their combined strength, any chance of overthrowing Palpatine and fulfilling the dreams he had shared with Padme, would be gone.

Without Luke at his side, there was no hope...

And only now, when it might all be lost, did Vader truly understand the motivation and the depth of his hatred for Palpatine: a hatred that had bloomed into life the moment Luke had been acknowledged as Anakin Skywalker's son.

 _In your anger you killed her_...

Palpatine had skilfully woven the last link in a web of deceit and half-truth: the final lie that had sealed his fate. From that moment there had been no going back. Of all the things he had done during the final days of the Jedi order, that one lie had plunged him irrevocably into the embrace of the Dark Side of the Force.

In his anger he had killed Padme.

Filled with grief and self-loathing, he had lost himself. He had blindly followed Palpatine's every order; sinking ever deeper into the Dark Side. Haunted by his murder of Padme and his unborn child, he had been condemned to live when he desired only to follow them into death.

Palpatine's lies had driven him into subservience.

And then Obi Wan Kenobi had appeared on the Death Star, bringing Luke, and everything had changed. The knowledge that his son was alive had pulled up long-forgotten plans and designs: rushing back in brilliant clarity. Half-remembered memories had coalesced and sharpened, clear and focussed… of Padme and of everything they had spoken about, of everything he had planned.

Anger, grief and betrayal burned within him. Palpatine had cost him everything, even his son.

It had launched three years of careful manoeuvring. He had been forced to do nothing for those first, few, interminable months, knowing that Palpatine was watching for any signs that Luke's sudden appearance might bring Anakin Skywalker back from the Dark Side. The delay had given him time, however, to think and plan.

Now everything was in jeopardy. Luke had been badly injured in a crash that had claimed other lives... And yet Bren Derlin had survived it, apparently unscathed.

He forced himself to remain calm. Nothing could be determined until he had seen Luke for himself and evaluated the situation.

Turning, he strode off the Command Deck towards his quarters. He would meditate, search the Force for any sign of his son, and do nothing more until he reached Vaaljajord.

oo0oo

Deputy Sigurd Arnassen was surprised at the ease with which he was able to get into Malhördhem. He had expected stormtroopers at the edge of town, stopping traffic, checking identities... but there had been nothing.

On the one hand he was grateful for that. He had found the Rebels' droid in Per's workshed, just as Zånder had suggested. The lack of stormtroopers meant no difficulties in getting the droid to Valda's, but it also left a niggling doubt in Sig's belly. Had they missed something? Why hadn't Vyre set up road blocks?

He drew up the speeder around the block from Madam Valda's and helped the Artoo unit out before carefully making his way towards the main entrance. The Artoo unit trundled behind him.

Sig paused at the entrance to Valda’s place, glancing along the street towards the town square. Then he moved inside.

Cara Dune pushed herself out of her chair, hand dropping to her sidearm as a Deputy walked into the room. Then she relaxed, smiling as she saw Skywalker’s Artoo unit trundle in behind him. Valda was also on her feet, crossing the room to meet the Deputy. “Vyre’s killed another Rebel,” she told him.

“And the Major surrendered,” Sig confirmed. “I heard on the way back here. Is this the droid?” he asked Dune, indicating Artoo.

“That’s him,” she corroborated.

“Rebel Command are working on a way to get them out,” Valda supplied. “They got a message to Derlin before he gave himself up.”

Sig looked at the two Rebel troopers, acknowledging, “No denying the man has guts.” He pulled out his comlink. “Kaysix, I’m back in Malhördhem. What’s the situation?”

It was Markus Fjeldssen, another Deputy, who answered. “Sig, we have two Rebels dead. There’s a Rebel in the med centre and looks like another one's being taken there. The others are being moved to the bureau cells, as is the Sheriff. I’m heading there with Erika. Gunter and Lenya are still in the square.”

Sig considered that information, looking at Zånder as the younger Deputy moved towards him. Two Deputies in the jailhouse, two Deputies in the town square, and two here to coordinate with the Rebels. That wasn’t a bad spread... as long as the Imperials left them alone to continue operating independently. “Are we on our own?” he asked Arnassen. “Or is Colonel Vyre taking the reins?”

“I’ll confirm authority when I get to the jailhouse,” Markus answered.

Artoo turned, rolling across to the communications unit set into the wall. He plugged into it and started searching. Information streamed towards him, along with a query from the building’s mainframe. Artoo answered, instructing the unit to ignore his presence. It pushed the point for a moment, but then relented, leaving Artoo to work.

“Artoo?” Cara asked, following him. “What are you doing?”

Turning his dome, Artoo looked at her, whistling and beeping.

“I don’t understand what you're saying,” she told him, sinking to a knee at his side. “Put it up on the screen.” Artoo did as he was asked, words trundling across the display.

“What is he doing?” Zånder asked.

“He’s sliced into the civilian, military and emergency service frequencies…” Dune supplied. “There’s nothing of note, but traffic into and off of Vaaljajord is being restricted and searched. Anything not on a flight plan is being grounded or denied entry.”

“Standard Imperial practice,” Sig confirmed.

Dune glanced at them. Then, an idea occurring to her, she asked, “Artoo, can you access the medical centre or the Sheriff’s bureau from here?” Artoo mewled softly, throwing more data onto the screen. Dune read aloud, “Artoo says he’s already trying, but he’ll need to crack the log-in codes before he can splice into the mainframes.”

“No need to crack ours,” Sig supplied. “The Sheriff set up a back-door log-in for when we need to be a little bit… unofficial.” He pulled out his comlink. “Kaysix,” he told the bureau’s droid, “it’s Arnassen. I need a remote login for the Alvessen files, authorisation Zero Zero Mern Osk Resh Enth Grek Zero Zero, acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged,” Kaysix replied before confirming, “Log-in is open, Deputy Arnassen.”

Sig grinned. “Artoo, confirm code Zero-Zero-One-Zero.”

Artoo did as directed, squeaking happily as he found himself with access to the Malhördhem Sheriff’s bureau mainframe. Then he trilled in satisfaction as he found that, through that mainframe, he now had access to the entire law enforcement network. Dune patted his dome, glancing at Sig, “Artoo says he’s in…”

She paused then asked the Deputy, “You have surveillance bots inside the cells? Can we see what’s going on?”

“We surely can,” Sig confirmed.

“Patch it all through to my office, honey,” Valda put in. “I got screens there you can use.”

“Pull it up, Artoo,” Dune ordered, rising to her feet and looking at Genara. “Let’s see how our guys are holding up.”

oo0oo

Derlin didn't struggle as the stormtroopers escorted him into one of the cells. He remained passive as the troopers pushed him up against the bars and secured his arms above his head. He knew what was coming. He knew what Vyre was about to subject him to. But he also knew that Vyre had orders to keep him alive.

He took a deep, calming breath. The Rebel Alliance were aware that the mission had been compromised. They were working on a way to get them out. All he had to do was hold out for as long as he could.

He watched as Sheriff Svioisaar was manhandled into the cell opposite. Wedge Antilles, however, was dragged into the same cell as him. Slumped in the stormtroopers' grasp but moving under his own power, he was coughing again, his breath rasping in his chest. The stormtroopers moved him back against the opposite bars, also securing his wrists above his head.

Wedge's cough deepened, leaving him fighting to breathe.

There was no sign of Hobbie. Derlin wondered, briefly, if he was being held in a different part of the building. Then Vyre walked into the cell. The stormtroopers turned, marching out past the Colonel.

Vyre gave Derlin a wide, bright smile. “Commander Antilles, here,” he informed Derlin, moving to stand between the Rebels, “believes that you, as his senior officer, will do whatever it takes to ensure his safety.”

There was something in the tone of the Colonel's voice that pushed dread through Derlin. He fought to keep his expression neutral, but an interrogation droid thrummed softy as it floated into the cell. Derlin couldn't stop his gaze flickering towards it.

Vyre watched the Rebel Major, waiting for his reaction as the droid moved towards Antilles. Derlin didn't disappoint. He tried to hide it, but Vyre saw the tightening of the arms, the slight clenching of the man’s jaw that betrayed his emotion.

Derlin dragged his gaze away from the droid, looking at Vyre, eyes sparking in hatred. “He's sick, damn you! He can hardly breathe! He can't tell you anything!”

“All the more reason for you to do your duty as his commanding officer and ensure his safety…”

Derlin bit back on a curse as his fears were confirmed. Vyre intended to use Wedge against him. He was going to torture Wedge and the pain would only stop when Derlin gave Vyre the information he wanted.

The droid had reached Wedge. Derlin could do nothing but watch as the unit extended an arm that held a hypodermic needle.

Slumped against the restraints, deep in the grip of another coughing fit, Wedge could taste blood in his mouth. Darkness was fluttering at the edge of his vision, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't feel the needle as it sank into his wrist but he flinched as the cool liquid flowed into his vein, burning down his arm. He dragged in half a breath, coughing it out, dragging in another half-breath. He managed a whole breath.

Someone was calling his name.

He lifted his head, still coughing, lungs burning, looking at the Imperial who stood in front of him. His gaze slid past the Colonel, to Derlin, secured to the bars opposite. Reality began to slip as the drugs took hold, but a clear memory surfaced: of Raimik and Basun lying dead on the ground beside him.

Wedge pulled his attention away from Derlin, looking back at the Imperial Colonel: the man who had killed the two soldiers. He had no breath to voice his defiance. Instead, he spat at Vyre.

Derlin froze, waiting for the back-handed blow that he fully expected Vyre to deliver.

The Colonel didn't move. Instead he quirked an eyebrow, looking at the traces of deep, red spittle on Antilles' chin. He dropped his gaze, to the blood-coloured sputum that had fallen short of its intended target and now lay in a dark splatter on the cell floor. Then he looked back up, watching the Rebel pilot struggling to breathe.

Tarja Karsaar’s medical explanation about Spore Lung, floated back to him. Without medical attention, the spores were destroying cells in in the Rebel’s lungs. Eventually he would drown in his own blood. Vyre turned around, looking at the Derlin. “You and I both know that Commander Antilles is dying. He is already coughing up blood. All you have to do is tell me who helped you cut Klivian out of the wreckage and I give you my word that Antilles will be returned to the hyper-atmospheric chamber.”

Derlin glared at him, giving a soft, humourless laugh. "So that you can throw him into another tank?" he countered. "One beside me? To re-educate him? How does that ensure his safety?"

Vyre smiled, unfazed by the fact that Derlin had called his bluff. Instead he simply changed tactic. "A point well made," he admitted. "So...” he went on, unclipping the holster at his hip and pulling the blaster pistol free, “there is no reason to spare him..."

oo0oo

Tarja Karsaar stepped away from the blond Rebel who lay silent and unresponsive on the bed. She was encouraged by the readings on the monitors. Plasma and analgesics dripped slowly into the cannula attached to Skywalker’s arm, bringing his blood pressure up and keeping him comfortable. The dialysis was also working. There was little sign of congestion in his lungs and his blood count was almost normal.

The coma, however, was another matter.

The readouts continued to indicate nothing more serious than mild concussion and yet the injury appeared to be far more severe. He reacted to pain stimuli, but he had failed to respond to any of her questions since Vyre had ordered him secured. Tarja suspected it was defiance, but without his physical response, she was unable to confirm the depth of the coma.

Moving around the other side of the bed, she slipped her hand into his. “Luke?” she called softly, “Luke, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

The Rebel pilot made no response.

"Specialist Karsaar?"

Tarja glanced around at the stormtrooper as he continued, "Another Rebel is being brought in for treatment."

As the woman released the hold on his hand, Luke’s mind raced. Another Rebel… but who? He had no idea what was going on out-with the confines of the room. He had no idea if any of the others had been caught, although it seemed likely. Hobbie, Wedge and one of the soldiers had been given medical attention back at the house. He remembered Wedge coughing, remembered Karsaar saying something about some sort of chamber at the medical centre.

Did that mean that they had Wedge… and, possibly, Hobbie?

He swore silently, hating the not-knowing, exasperated by his inability to do anything more than move his fingers. Anger, fear and frustration built, roiling within his chest. He screamed soundlessly, fingers tightening into fists…

Alarms began to chime in warning beside him.

His eyes focussed slowly: the blurred, indistinct shape above him resolving into the contour of a light, set into the ceiling.

He gasped in a breath, the anger and frustration disappearing as he realised that he could see. Suddenly he found himself afraid that, now his eyes were open, he would be unable to close them: equally afraid that, if he did close them, he would be unable to open them again.

 _Anger... fear... The dark side of the Force are they_... Yoda’s warning floated into his mind.

He fought for calm, caught between his need to see, and his instinct to hide the fact that he could open his eyes. He heard the female medical specialist call his name.

Instinct won. Slowly, Luke closed his eyes.


	10. Mission Abort + 20hrs

_Mission Abort + 20hrs_

_09:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

COLONEL MAREK VYRE took a last draw on his tabbac stick then dropped it on the floor of the cell, grinding it out beneath the toe of his boot. Pushing himself off of the wall, he breathed out the smoke as he walked towards the woman chained to the bars of the cell. “This would go much more easily for you if you cooperated, Sheriff.”

Ash lifted her head, looking at him, fighting to maintain clarity through the haze of drugs and the pain that radiated through her. “Can’t… tell you… what… I don’t know…”

Vyre’s eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged, turning away, letting the interrogation droid send a charge through her again.

He chewed on the inside of his lip. In the face of her resolute refusal to say anything other than “Don’t know!” and “You’ve got it figured wrong!” he was beginning to accept that his gut might just be wrong on this one and that the Sheriff might be telling the truth.

His comlink chimed and he pulled it out, answering, “Vyre.”

“Colonel,” Lieutenant Kedris began, “Lord Vader’s ship is due imminently.”

Vyre turned, looking at the Sheriff, considering the situation. He had run out of time. He had hoped to be able to deliver Lord Vader all the information the man might need. Instead, he had been unable to ascertain anything: despite the mind probe.

Sheriff Svioisaar was telling him nothing. Klivian had told him little of any relevance, insisting that Derlin and the other Rebels had cut him out of the wreckage. Antilles had been unable to tell him anything. He had left the Rebel on the floor of the cell - fighting to breathe, let alone talk - coughing up his own blood in full view of Derlin.

Derlin...

Vyre hadn’t dared to question the Major. The orders from the _Executor_ had made it quite clear that Derlin was to be delivered to the Emperor on Coruscant. His condition hadn't been specified, but Vyre had heeded his own instinct to leave the Major untouched.

He lifted the comlink, confirming, “Copied, Lieutenant.” Then he turned to the interrogation droid, ordering, “Enough!”

The droid moved back, away from Svioisaar, who slumped against the restraints. Giving her one, last look, Vyre turned, heading out of the cell and walking along the corridor into the office area. “Sergeant,” he called.

A white-armoured trooper turned to look at him, “Sir?”

“Get Antilles!” Vyre ordered. “Take him to the medical centre. It would be unfortunate if he died before Lord Vader's arrival.”

oo0oo

The kaleidoscope shimmer of the hyperspace corridor fragmented into a starscape as the ship dropped into normal space, running in towards the planet of Vaaljajord. Toryn Farr scanned the sensor readouts, double checking before confirming, “There is Imperial traffic in the area… but no sign of any Star Destroyers.”

Sitting beside her, Shawn Valdez quirked an eyebrow, glancing behind at the Princess Leia Organa. “So far so good…” he commented, softly.

The Princess was convinced that Vader would arrive personally to secure Luke Skywalker and Valdez was inclined to believe her. Palo Torshan’s mission briefing had included the events of Bespin. Vader’s arrest of the Princess and the Millennium Falcon crew had been a focussed attempt to capture Skywalker. It made sense that Vader would arrive to take charge of him now, but it looked as if they’d made it to Vaaljajord before the Imperial Lord.

Leia nodded, “Let’s hope our luck holds.”

A voice crackled over the com. “Unidentified ship in sector zero-five-zero this is Vaaljajord Approach. You are in violation of flight restrictions! Identify and confirm your intentions!”

“We’re about to find out,” Valdez quipped.

He turned back and toggled the com switch as Farr hit the transponder ident. “Vaaljajord Approach, this is the _Freedom Shade_ ,” Valdez announced. “Ident is coming down. We’re inbound under sanction of the Lord Darth Vader: authorisation code Trill Aurek Nern Osk Zero One Aurek…”

Leia held her breath.

Only days after leaving the Rebel fleet, Lando and Chewbacca had been attacked by a bounty hunter. They had managed to disable him and, when Chewie had recognised him from Hoth, they had rendezvoused with a SpecOps team who had brought the bounty hunter back to Rebel lines. The man's identity had been easily confirmed: or, at least, the identity he'd used to join the Rebel Alliance. During his subsequent 'debrief', General Madine had informed him that he would be tried for sedition and risked execution.

In the face of that, the bounty hunter had admitted infiltrating the Rebel Alliance in the hope of securing the Hutt’s bounty on Han Solo. His attempt had been thwarted by the Imperial attack on the Hoth base.

The bounty hunter had offered Madine a deal: in return for a commuted sentence he would give the Alliance an unrestricted authorisation from the Lord Darth Vader. The authorisation had been issued after Hoth with the instructions to hunt down both the occupants of the _Millennium Falcon_ and Commander Luke Skywalker.

After careful consideration, the Alliance had accepted the offer. This was the first time any attempt had been made to use the authorisation, however.

Vader’s reputation preceded him. None of the Rebel officers involved in the mission planning had expressed any doubts about Vader’s authorisation being immediately accepted: especially if they got to Vaaljajord before Vader…

Whatever the feud between Vader and Anakin Skywalker, the past has spilled over into the present. Vader had murdered Luke’s father. Now he appeared to be single-mindedly determined to rid the universe of the Skywalker name by hunting down Luke.

As the seconds stretched, however, and no confirmation of the authorisation came through, Leia found herself thankful that they had an alternative plan. If the authorisation was declined, they would make suitable protest, but leave. Then they would rendezvous with the commercial liner _Spirit of Caledon_ at the ship's final jump point, on-route to Vaaljajord. The Captain and senior crew of the _Spirit_ were Rebel sympathetic and actively involved with the Vaaljajord Route. This time, however, they wouldn't be smuggling people out, they'd be smuggling a whole ship in: riding their wake through hyperspace, then down into the Vaaljajord atmosphere. It was a tricky manoeuvre, but it could be done and it would get the Rebel ship onto Vaaljajord unnoticed.

"Freedom Shade,” the approach controller told them, “your authorisation is confirmed. What is your preferred arrival routing?"

Leia let out her breath, slowly, a smile pulling across her lips as Sean Valdez told the controller, “Thanks, Approach. We’d like to route direct to Malhördhem...”

“Roger,” the controller replied. “Route direct, but be advised there is an exclusion zone within fifty clicks of Malhördhem.”

“Copied,” Valdez confirmed, “and routing direct.”

He glanced back at the Princess again as Toryn Farr adjusted the ship’s heading. Then, inspiration hitting him, he turned back. Toggling the com switch, he asked, “Approach, do you have an arrival estimate for the _Executor_?”

Leia’s heart lurched at the Captain’s question… but then she relaxed, a small smile pulling across her lips. If they were supposed to be acting on Vader’s authorisation it made sense that they would be here to rendezvous with the Dark Lord. The answer might also confirm whether or not her instincts were right: that Vader would come for Luke himself. The Dark Lord had skilfully manipulated everything at Bespin in order to take Luke. Han was languishing in carbonite only because Vader had wanted to test the carbon-freezing chamber before encasing Luke.

_He's all yours, bounty hunter. Reset the chamber for Skywalker._

The memory of Vader's voice still made Leia's heart lurch, sending panic crawling up into her throat.

_And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base..._

Leia took a deep breath, holding it, pushing down the horror as the memories reared. _Get a grip! You can't do this now!_

“We don’t have an exact ETA,” the controller provided, breaking into her thoughts, “but we expect the _Executor_ very shortly.”

Valdez looked at Leia, nodding at her in acknowledgement. She had been right. Vader was indeed on his way. They didn't have much time to attempt to contact Skywalker’s droid and meet with the resistance in Malhördhem. “Copied, Approach," he told the controller. "Freedom Shade, out.”

He recycled the frequency. “Let’s hope that Artoo is listening out,” he commented, sending out a brief burst of code. If the droid could provide up-to-date information about the situation, it would make the next part of the operation much easier to plan.

Leia pushed herself to her feet, “I’ll tell the strike team and get Threepio.” Having the protocol droid there to translate would make communication with Artoo far faster, and time was of the essence. There was no guarantee that they would be able to get a hold of the little droid, but Leia knew how resourceful Artoo could be. If there was a way, Artoo would have found it.

Walking through the flight deck door, Leia gave a reassuring smile to the strike team sitting in the cabin. “We’ve reached Vaaljajord ahead of the _Executor_ ,” she told them. “Time to hide.”

The atmosphere changed as the soldiers pushed themselves to their feet. Nervous anticipation flowed into expectant determination. The first obstacles had been overcome. The rescue mission had finally kicked into gear.

One of the sergeants hit a concealed switch under a table. Two areas of deck plating dropped slightly, moving aside. There was still a chance they would be boarded and searched when they reached the surface. To avoid any difficult questions about why a bounty ship was running with such a large crew, most of the strike team would hide in the secret floor compartments.

As the soldiers dropped into the cavities, Leia looked across at the gold protocol droid standing against the wall. “Threepio,” she told him, “we need you in the flight deck.”

oo0oo

In the office of Lady Valda’s emporium, Artoo Detoo squealed, rocking from side-to-side in excitement. Cara Dune dragged her gaze away from the scenes inside the jailhouse and looked at him. Information began scrolling across another screen and Dune read it. Relief crept into her belly and a slow smile tugged across her lips. “They’re here!” she called.

A small group of people clustered into the office, including Gelnara, Per and the two Sheriff Deputies: Sig and Zånder.

“They’re posing as bounty hunters with…” Dune began. “Well, I’ll be damned…" she finished. Turning, she looked at the small group of resistance fighters. “They’ve secured an Imperial authorisation code! It was accepted without question. They're routing directly here..."

"I'll head back to the jailhouse, see what I can find out," Sig said. Turning, he told Zånder, "I'll shout as soon as I can. Might take me some time."

"Don't do anything stupid, son..." Per warned.

Sig flashed him a grin. "I hear you!" he assured the older man. "I've got me a date with Beransa Olvensaar two nights from now. I ain't about to scupper that!" Turning, he disappeared towards the main door.

"He thinks he's got a date," Zånder quipped softly behind Arnassen’s retreating back, "She ain't said yes, yet...” Glancing at his grandfather, he asked, “Should we tell the Mayor that help's arrived?"

Per considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "No, son. The less she knows, the less she has to lie. Best to leave her out of this."

Artoo burbled again and Dune turned her attention back to the screen, reading it. Her mouth dropped open. "The Princess Leia Organa sends her regrets for the trouble the Rebel Alliance has caused the Vaaljajord Route... and requests to meet the senior officers of the Malhördhem resistance..."

Turning to look at them, Dune finished, "She's part of the rescue team."

"The Princess Leia is here?" Hetta asked, her voice incredulous. "But it's far too dangerous!"

"The Princess won't ask any of us to do anything she won't do herself," Gelnara offered. "This isn't the first time she's been in the thick of it. I doubt it will be the last."

Dune nodded her agreement before supplying, "Captain Valdez and Major Farr are with her."

A smile pulled across Gelnara’s face at the news. If Valdez was here with Farr and her strike team, the chances of them getting out of this alive had just increased dramatically.

"They're the best of the best," Dune was telling Per, Hetta and Zånder. She paused, then added, "Valdez and Farr were both on Hoth..."

Per's heart constricted at mention of Hoth, as it always did, bringing back memories of Mønaeg. He laid a gentle hand on Hetta's shoulder, knowing that she would also be thinking of their granddaughter. Reaching up, Hetta laid her hand over his. Swallowing down the constriction in her throat, Derlin's words swept back into her mind, giving her the strength to drive away the tears. _Mønaeg Erikssaar had her grandparents' courage and they serve her memory well._

The Vaaljajord Route existed only because of Mønaeg. And now the Princess Leia Organa was apologising for the inconvenience her people had caused and wanting to meet them. Hetta swallowed again, finally trusting her voice. "Tell the Princess Leia that we await her convenience..."

Dune nodded, turning back to Artoo, asking, "Got that?"

Artoo burbled softly, dropping more data onto the screen. Dune read it then answered, "Give them everything, Artoo. Give them everything they need. Are you any closer to hacking into the medical facility?"

Artoo mewled a low, negative sound and Dune dropped her hand gently onto the top of his dome. "Keep trying, buddy. You're doing a great job."

oo0oo

Tarja Karsaar checked the readings on the panel beside the Rebel pilot’s bed, frowning slightly at the numbers. The prosthesis had been removed, what was left of Derek Klivian’s arm was swathed in bacta-soaked argentum dressings. But instinct told her that it wasn’t going to be enough. The damage to the tissue and the bone was too severe. She was going to have to amputate another section of his arm.

His heart had stopped while the droids had removed the prosthesis, and had stubbornly refused to start. She had been almost ready to give up, to let him go, but the last attempt at defibrillation had worked and now he was fighting back. His heartbeat was strong and regular, his fluid levels were rising and his vital signs slowly stabilising.

His body seemed to be fighting off the spore infestation, too. There were indications of spores in his blood, but they were inert. She’d drawn some samples of his blood to analyse. Whatever was suppressing the spores might be useful in treating Spore Lung.

She looked at him for a long moment; then let her gaze slide away from him towards the other blond Rebel. Luke Skywalker: hero of the Rebel Alliance, a terrorist who had been implicit in the murder of thousands aboard the Imperial space station at Yavin. A man, lying in a coma beside his brutally-tortured friend.

Tarja had never been anything but an Imperial advocate. She had no doubts that the Empire was the only thing standing between stability and mayhem in the galaxy. For almost two decades, following the treason of the Jedi, the Emperor had ensured peace and cohesion. His dissolution of the Senate had been the only way to force out the remaining, foetid remnants of sedition within the political structure, the only way to ensure the continued peace. And it had worked. The Rebellion had been driven into action, goaded into showing their true face: murder and anarchy.

These men were part of that: terrorists, traitors, seditionists...

There had never been any question in her mind about handing them over to Colonel Vyre. Her grandfather's affection for Per Alvessen and Hetta was the only thing that had saved the older couple. She hadn't wanted the old man and his wife to suffer for the decisions that grief had pushed them into.

Now, however...

Now she couldn't shake the sense of unease that niggled at her. She was a medical specialist. She saved lives, eased pain, relieved suffering... but her actions had brought torture to the young, blond man who lay unconscious on the bed, his body broken and burned. Her actions had terminated Antilles' treatment, leaving him to suffocate slowly. Her actions had resulted in the death of a man she had given medical care to, and another who had helped her in the operating room.

 _He is a Rebel terrorist! That alone has already marked him for death!_ Vyre's words flowed back to her and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

She had seen death. She had been prepared to accept responsibility for the death of these Rebels. Even though they had been in her care, she had been prepared to live with that on her conscience, because she believed that bringing them to justice was for the greater good.

But this wasn't justice. This wasn't what she had signed up for. This wasn’t why she served the Empire.

She found herself doubting her convictions, and her resolve. Her family were staunch supporters of the Emperor. They believed in everything Palpatine had done for the people of the great Galactic Empire.

Tarja had been too young to remember the events of the Jedi attempt to overthrow the Senate, but she had seen the documentaries and media reports in the years that had followed. Even in the depths of his pain and his disfigurement, Palpatine had pulled the galaxy together, saving it from descending into chaos and lawlessness. The Rebel Alliance's ill-conceived agenda threatened to plunge the galaxy into the very turmoil Palpatine had saved it from.

The Rebel Alliance was wrong… but these young men believed in it as passionately as she believed in the Empire.

Her grandfather and parents held with the late Moff Tarkin's theory that the only way to drive the Rebel Alliance into extinction was fear. There would always be the malcontent element of society, those who hid on the fringes and skulked in the darkness, coveting the light of power and influence. Fear for their own safety would drive out their fickle courage, robbing the Rebellion of fuel for their seditious fire.

Having watched Derek Klivian fight for life, knowing that she had been complicit in the execution of unarmed Rebel soldiers, Tarja could no longer agree with that terrible conclusion. If brutality and torture was the price of silence and compliance then, Tarja finally realised, as a medical specialist she had a duty to do everything in her power to prevent those who believed in 'rule by fear' taking control of their small sections of that safe and secure Empire Palpatine had delivered for almost two decades.

Mind reeling from the enormity of the decision she had just made, she turned away from the Rebels, moving towards the door.

How many of the Malhördhem townsfolk had been scared into submission by the public executions in the square? But for every person who would no longer stand up, how many had taken courage from the Rebels' deaths: the courage to defend themselves against those who threatened their families? How many had been driven towards the ranks of the Rebel Alliance by Vyre's actions?

The Emperor had promised and provided a just society, a secure society. How many within the upper echelons of the Empire believed in Tarkin's rule by terror? Was security now being threatened by the sadistic brutality of Imperial personnel like Vyre? Her memories slipped back to the Imperial officer who had all but stripped the skin from her back during her interrogation after the student riots.

Was that why Mønaeg had defected to the Alliance? Had she and Mønaeg both suffered a similar fate in the aftermath of those riots? Had Mønaeg turned to the Rebel Alliance, while her own faith in the Empire had been reinforced?

"Specialist Karsaar, to Emergency Admissions! Specialist Karsaar to Emergency Admissions!"

The droid's announcement broke Tarja out of her train of thought. She grabbed hold of it, levering aside the dizzying doubts to concentrate on the emergency that demanded her attention. She took off at a run, slowing only when the emergency room doors opened to allow her through. She slid to a stop, recognising the man in the triage bed.

It was Antilles. He was propped up on the bed, a respiration mask on his face. Barely conscious, he was in obvious distress and respiratory difficulty. Medical droids were already cutting away his clothing.

Pushing aside the guilt that swept through her, Tarja moved towards the bed, scanning the data on the medical panel. She swore, softly. He was close to respiratory failure. Blood oxygen saturation was dangerously low, complicated by his plasma volume dropping.

She turned away from the data, ordering, "Get a chloride crystalloid line into him. And a pleural..."

She trailed off. The droids had removed most of his shirt, and were now carefully trying to remove the remains of the material from burns that ran from his left shoulder down his upper arm onto the inside of his forearm. Tarja stood for a moment, looking at the injuries. They weren't from any escape attempt. These were intentionally placed blaster wounds, just like Klivian's.

"Get a chloride crystalloid line into him," she repeated. "And a chest drain, to draw off the pleural effusion. It should ease his breathing. Bring me two units of bacta gel and some argentum dressings for these burns. And set up a hemodialysis unit..."

One of the droids moved to do as she directed while the other continued working on the burns on Antilles' arm. "Should we ready a hyper-atmospheric chamber?"

Tarja shook her head. "No. We need to get his fluid levels increased and his pulmonary function up before we can think about a chamber. But get a bacta tank ready... We'll flush his lungs and oxygenate the blood externally while we control the spore infestation with dialysis."

oo0oo

“Oh, my…” Threepio began, knowing that the humans with him in the flight deck would be dismayed at the information Artoo was giving him.

“What is it, Threepio?” Leia pushed.

“Your Highness,” the droid began, “Artoo Detoo reports that the situation has worsened.”

Heart constricting, Leia glanced at Valdez and Farr as Threepio continued, “Dav Raimik and Vedrik Basun have both been… executed. Derek Klivian and Wedge Antilles have been questioned and are currently in the medical facility with Master Luke!”

Leia’s jaw tightened in anger. She took a breath to ask about the others, but Valdez was a second ahead of her. “What about Derlin?”

“Major Derlin surrendered himself to prevent Commander Antilles being executed,” Threepio supplied.

Valdez swore, sharply and succinctly, at the news. Hands clenching into fists, he dropped back against the chair, looking up at the flight deck ceiling. Leia swallowed, dismayed. Derlin had intimated that he intended to do just that. They had strongly suggested that he do it only as a last resort… but with Raimik and Basun both dead, Leia couldn’t fault Derlin’s sacrifice to save Wedge and the others.

“The Major has been detained but hasn’t yet been questioned…”

Leia looked at Threepio as that news pulled Valdez straight. “Sheriff Svioisaar of the Malhördhem Sheriff’s Bureau has also been questioned,” Threepio continued. “Fire Chief Ulafssen has been compromised but is safe with the local resistance leaders, who have agreed to meet with you, your Highness.” He paused before continuing, “Cara Dune and Haarlan Gelnara are also safe with the resistance. Artoo reports that he is trying to infiltrate the medical centre database, but has been unsuccessful so far. Regrettably, he has no accurate information on the condition of Klivian, Antilles or Master Luke…”

He paused again before going on, “He does, however, have access to both the Imperial and local law-enforcement grids … and has information on Colonel Marek Vyre, the senior officer orchestrating the operation in Malhördhem.”

A slow grin pulled across Valdez’ face. That was useful information. It would allow them to get a handle on the man. “Go Artoo,” he commented softly.

“Oh…” Threepio finished. “Oh, my…”

Leia looked at the gold droid, asking, “What is it Threepio?”

“Artoo reports that they have visual access to the inside the jailhouse and he can provide recordings... Colonel Vyre personally interrogated Commander Antilles and the Sheriff. Artoo doubts that Commander Antilles’ medical condition can be… good…”

Toryn Farr swore softly. The smile vanished from Valdez’ face. He didn’t need much more information on this Colonel Vyre to get a handle on the man. He already knew him: ruthless, sadistic, focussed and rabidly Imperial.

“Put all the information on a datapad, Threepio,” he ordered.

Leia sat, fighting down the small flurry of panic that trembled up from her belly into her throat. She swallowed, Vader’s voice flashing through her mind. _And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden Rebel base..._

“Your Highness?”

Threepio’s voice broke into her thoughts and she jolted her head up to look at him. She blinked away the residual memories, swallowing again, taking a deep breath. “Yes, Threepio?”

“The Malhördhem resistance leaders wish to know where and when they should meet you?”

Leia opened her mouth then closed it, looking across at Valdez. He answered for her. “Tell them that we need to examine the information Artoo has just given us. And make contact with Colonel Vyre. Then we’ll get back to them.”

oo0oo

Kedris turned, calling, “Colonel?”

Vyre moved away from the window of Svioisaar’s office, tension tightening in his belly as he walked towards the door. “Vader is here?” he demanded.

“No, Colonel, but central command report that the _Freedom Shade_ has arrived ahead of Lord Vader’s ship and is routing direct to Malhördhem.”

Vyre frowned, eyes narrowing. “The what?”

“Bounty hunters, Colonel,” Kedris supplied, “under the direct authorisation of the Lord Vader.”

Vyre snorted in disgust. He had known it would only be a matter of time before those sort of scum turned up. Bounty hunters were difficult to handle, undisciplined and untrustworthy. He would have to treat these ones carefully, too, if they were under Vader’s control, damn them!

“Do we have confirmation of the authorisation?” he asked, hoping to still subvert them.

“Yes, Colonel…” Kedris paused, before continuing, “Command reports that the ship sent down a short transmission, which has been answered. The location was somewhere within Malhördhem.”

Vyre considered that for a long moment. The bounty hunters had someone on the ground, here in Malhördhem. It could be one of their own, although that was unlikely... Which meant that it had to be an Imperial operative. It made sense that Tarja Karsaar was not the only one sent in to infiltrate the Vaaljajord Route.

Frustration settled deep in his chest. Vader’s involvement had already complicated a straight-forward ‘retrieve and question’ deployment. Now it was going to be further complicated by bounty hunters acting directly with an unknown operative on the ground… who may, or may not, be answering directly to Imperial Special Ops… or possibly Lord Vader himself.

“Find out who answered that transmission!” he ordered. “If there is a second operative in Malhördhem, I want to know who it is! And ‘direct authorisation’ or not, advise these bounty hunters that due to Imperial operational requirements, they will be obliged to land at the Malhördhem anchorage, nowhere else! Send a detachment of troops to reinforce the deployment already there! And have my landspeeder brought around the front. I will greet these bounty hunters personally!”

At the communication station, Sigurd Arnassen kept his back to the Imperial officers as the Lieutenant confirmed Vyre's orders. "Kaysix," he asked the droid, softly, "are we still recording everything going on in here?"

"Affirm, Deputy," Kaysix confirmed.

"Isolate that last conversation and send it to Deputy Olgenssen," Sigurd ordered, quietly. "Then erase the recording."

"As ordered, Deputy," Kaysix confirmed.

Sig turned, looking at Vyre as the Imperial officer moved past the com station towards the door. "Colonel?"

Vyre stopped, turning his attention to the Deputy.

"Colonel," Sig began, deciding to play deferential to Vyre, knowing the man wouldn't hesitate to toss him in a cell beside the Sheriff given half a chance, "if bounty hunters are coming into Malhördhem, I ought to tag along..."

Vyre quirked an eyebrow, giving him a level look. "Really? And why would that be?"

"Regulations," Sig supplied. "We have a word with any newcomers, paying particular attention to bounty hunters... They ain't always law-abiding..."

Vyre almost laughed. He stepped forward, opening his mouth to put the Deputy in his place, to tell the man that the Sheriff and her officers no longer had any place in Malhördhem. The garrison of stormtroopers, who would now be permanently stationed in Malhördhem, would deal with any law-enforcement requirements.

Then he stopped, reconsidering. The Deputy was right: bounty hunters could be troublesome. And these particular hunters were here on Vader's personal authorisation, communicating with operatives in Malhördhem that he had no knowledge of.

Perhaps the Sheriff's officers would prove useful after all.

"Very well," he told the Deputy. "Follow me."

oo0oo

Luke wasn't sure how long he had been drifting in the comfortable warmth between sleep and wakefulness. It was reassuring, peaceful...

Memories played through his mind: of lazy hours lying on his back, hands behind his head, in the warmth of the evening suns, belly full of Aunt Beru's delicious stew. Any minute now she would call him in to bathe. Then she'd make her thick, delicious, aromatic chocca drink...

He smiled at the thought, realising that it had been a long time since he'd had chocca...

The realisation disconcerted him. A sense of unease settled in his chest and, just beyond the edge of his hearing, voices began whispering at him. They were urgent, insistent, but indistinct, as if he were listening to them over a not-quite-tuned-in frequency. Maybe if he recycled...

He opened his eyes.

“Control, AS-two-two-six: no activity to report. Prisoners are still secure.”

Reality crashed in on him, crushing the breath from his chest. The heart monitor beside his bed fluctuated rapidly. A soft alarming chimed... but, unlike before, no-one came running to his bedside.

Luke fought down the terror. He couldn't afford to panic. He couldn't allow fear to colour his thoughts. Fear was the Dark side of the Force...

_Control, control! You must learn control!!!_

Yoda's voice echoed in his mind and he latched onto it, finding security in the emotions elicited by memories of the little Jedi master. He had to retain what little control he had of the situation. He was helpless, locked inside his own body and if he panicked, he would be totally lost...

_Concentrate... Calm... Feel the Force..._

The Force was lost to him, but the pre-meditation exercises Yoda had drilled into him were familiar and comforting. He pushed everything else out of his mind, focussing on the mantras. His body began to relax, his erratic heartbeat steadying. The monitor alarm warbled into silence as his heart rate receded back into a more normal range.

In the quiet that followed, Luke lay and listened. There were at least two stormtroopers standing at the door. He could hear them talking... about bounty hunters, scum of the universe, untrustworthy and undisciplined, but the Colonel wouldn't stand any nonsense.

There were other sounds, too, on the other side of him: a soft hiss and a slow beep. Oxygen, Luke realised. Oxygen and another heart monitor.

He took a breath, concentrating. For long, frustrating moments nothing happened. He fought for calm. Then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, his body obeyed him. His head turned. The action drained his strength, exhausting him. He dragged his eyes open, looking at the unconscious form in the bed beside him.

Hobbie. His arm was swathed in pristine, white dressings. No, not his arm... the stump of his arm...

Luke's eyes slid closed. He tried to fight the weakness that pressed in on him, tried to push back the lethargy that threatened to draw him away from consciousness, but it was too strong. His mind fogged and refused to work. He couldn't connect his thoughts.

Frustration sparked anger... but even fury could do little to halt the encroaching darkness. It swept in, dragging him with it. As the light faded, the whispered voices returned to taunt him. And as oblivion claimed him, the whispers coalesced into one, clear and distinct word...

 _Son_...


	11. Mission Abort + 20.5hrs

_Mission Abort + 20.5hrs_

_09:30 - Malhördhem Local Time_

COLONEL MAREK VYRE WATCHED as the _Freedom Shade_ settled onto the duracrete surface of the anchorage. The ship had once been sleek, streamlined and beautiful. Age had dulled the shine of the hull and it was mottled in places, streaked by carbon scoring. The engines spooled down and, from the ship's belly, a ramp lowered.

Vyre drew himself up to his full height, standing at-ease, his hands clasped behind his back. Behind him, a squad of stormtroopers stood, weapons held ready. One of the Sheriff's Deputies stood a step behind him, too.

Booted feet appeared on the ramp: two people.

Vyre stayed perfectly at-ease, but quirked an eyebrow, running his eyes across the body of the woman who walked down the ramp and across the duracrete towards him. Shapely legs were encased in leather leggings. A blaster belt was strapped around her waist. Her tightly-fitting, vest-style top left little of her curves to the imagination. Her light brown hair was tied in a long braid that fell across one shoulder. She moved with the grace of an athlete, her steps sure and measured.

The man behind her had short, cropped hair. He wore an open jerkin that emphasised the lean musculature of his arms and torso. He also wore a blaster belt fastened at his hips, and an ammo belt slung across his chest from one shoulder. Like the woman, he carried himself with sure, ready steps.

Having assessed the man, Vyre turned his attention back to the woman. She stopped in front of him. The smile she gave him, Vyre reflected, would have been devastating in a different situation. “You,” she drawled, softly, “must be Colonel Vyre...”

He quirked an eyebrow again, giving her a cold smile. “You,” he countered, “have me at a disadvantage.”

She lowered her head, smiling at him through long lashes. Vyre had no doubt that many of the bounties this woman collected would willingly walk into her trap. He, however, was neither a bounty nor a fool. He looked back at her, unmoved by her coquettish behaviour.

Behind Farr, Valdez watched the Colonel's impassionate reaction to her, his initial assessment of the man, confirmed. Vyre was focussed, not easily swayed from duty. Valdez knew he could add ruthless and sadistic to that list.

Farr had taken a step towards the Imperial Colonel. “Farn,” she told him, using her cover name. “This is my first mate, Valendiz.”

Vyre looked past the woman towards her companion, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Well,” Vyre began, turning his attention back to the female bounty hunter “how can we accommodate you?”

“You can take us to Wedge Antilles and Derek Klivian.”

Vyre smiled at her. These bounty hunters might be under Lord Vader’s authorisation, but Vader wasn't here yet and Vyre had no intentions of snapping to attention as he was ordered around by Vader's lackeys. “And why should I do that?” he asked, lightly.

Farr turned towards Valdez, who stepped forward, handing over a datapad. She took it, turning it and holding it out so that Vyre could see the information. “Wedge Antilles and Derek Klivian, wanted by the Diazez Cartel, the Hutts, the Sienar Corporation...” She trailed off, then grinned, “But the Diazez are carrying the highest reward...”

Vyre's mouth pulled into a tight line of disgust as he read the datapad. The Rebels were terrorists attempting to destabilise the Empire. They had killed and maimed Imperial personal… and now it appeared that Lord Vader had authorised their removal for profit.

As an ISB officer, Vyre acknowledged that this could be part of something more far-reaching, a crucial trade-off as part of a wider operation, but disgust still soured his stomach. “Antilles and Klivian are Imperial prisoners!” he countered.

“Sorry to disappoint, Colonel,” Farr told him. “Emperor Palpatine is interested only in Skywalker and Derlin. Klivian and Antilles are incidental... and ours...”

Vyre lifted his gaze, looking at her as she went on, "We're not interested in the grunts you arrested, just Klivian and Antilles..." She gave him another of her devastating smiles.

Vyre awarded her a long, measured look before countering, “Your contact in Malhördhem appears to have misinformed you.”

Dread crawled through Toryn’s gut, but she kept the smile on her face. Vyre knew about the transmission. “Really?”

“The two ‘grunts’ are dead,” Vyre told her. “They were executed.”

Toryn pushed away the wash of anger at Vyre’s matter-of-fact delivery, keeping the smile on her face and shrugging. “Like I said, we’re here for Klivian and Antilles.”

Behind her, Valdez stepped forward. “We’d like to stick around for a while once we’ve secured them... with your agreement, of course, Colonel,” he told Vyre. “Malhördhem has the facility for a long, warm bath with a handsome companion...”

Vyre looked at him, knowing exactly where and to whom the man was referring: the bordella. He also recognised the man’s attempt to explain away the transmission. It still left him unsettled. Intelligence played a major part in his role as an ISB officer, and right now he was being forced to operate without critical information. It rankled that he was being kept in the dark.

The bounty hunters might have Lord Vader’s personal authorisation, but he was reticent to release the Rebels into their custody, especially with Lord Vader’s imminent arrival. Refusing to hand over the Rebel officers might do him no favours with Vader, but he was willing to risk the Dark Lord’s displeasure, especially with Antilles being almost as high up the Imperial ‘wanted’ list as Skywalker.

He looked back at the woman, giving her a wide smile. “I suggest your crew take advantage of Malhördhem's pleasures before you take custody of Antilles and Klivian,” he told her. “Once Lord Vader arrives, I’m sure he will be only too pleased to release the Rebels to you.”

Toryn swore, silently, but outwardly she kept the nonchalant attitude, shrugging at Vyre’s words. “Sure,” she told him. “But,” she went on, “since you’ve already executed the grunts, I think it only prudent that we personally confirm Antilles and Klivian’s proof of life…”

Behind her, Valdez watched the Colonel’s reaction. They were walking a fine line. They daren’t push too hard or Vyre would simply dig his heels in and confine them all to the ship. But Artoo had yet to splice into the medical centre’s mainframe, and without knowledge of the layout of the facility, they would be flying blind. With three injured pilots in one building and Derlin in custody in another, lack of information could get all four killed.

Vyre, however, was nodding. “That’s an acceptable request. I will take you there, myself.”

He started to turn away then stopped, turning back. “Of course, you will require to leave all weapons with Deputy Arnassen, who will remain here with your First Mate…”

Toryn gave Vyre another, easy smile, confirming, “Of course.” She unbuckled the blaster belt, lifting it away from her hips and handing it over to Arnassen. She gave him a long, level look, recognising the name, knowing that he was one of the local resistance people. “Blaster is DNA activated,” she told him, playing her part of bounty hunter, “so there shouldn’t be any unfortunate accidents.”

She glanced back at Valdez, who nodded. Then she turned, dropping into step beside Vyre as he walked towards the exit.

From the top of the ramp, her identity disguised beneath a bio-helmet, Leia Organa watched Toryn Farr leave with the Imperial Colonel. Then she moved down the ramp towards Valdez and the Sheriff’s Deputy who stood with him.

oo0oo

Vader lifted his head, unable to quiet his racing thoughts, the clarity of meditation eluding him. Memories played through his mind in a jumbled staccato: of Obi-Wan; of Palpatine; of Padme…

_You are strong and wise, Anakin, and I am very proud of you…_

_...you're too close to the Chancellor. The Council doesn't like it when he interferes in Jedi affairs... I warned you there was tension between the Council and the Chancellor..._

_All those who gain power are afraid to lose it. Even the Jedi._

_Our allegiance is to the Senate, not to its leader who has managed to stay in office long after his term has expired._

_The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, including their quest for greater power._

_The Jedi are selfless... They care only about others._

_Why is it, then, that they have asked you to do something you feel is wrong?_

_You can't kill him, Master. He must stand trial!_

_He has too much control of the Senate and the Courts! He is too dangerous to be kept alive!_

_The fear of losing power is a weakness of both the Jedi and the Sith..._

_You are fulfilling your destiny..._

_…you’re breaking my heart…_

_...you have become the very thing you swore to destroy._

Even after two decades, the betrayal ripped into him, deep and agonising. Obi-Wan had turned on him, and then turned his back on him, walking away and leaving him in anguish at the edge of the lava flow. Anger and hatred erupted. The power of it drove him to his feet, exploding out of him in a roar of anguish and ire. He threw his arms wide, tilting his head up, screaming out torment.

The Dark side of the Force swept in, wrapping around him, consuming him... and the intensity of the vision that slammed into him drove him back to his knees.

_He stood in front of a vast picture window. Beyond it, the lights of the Senatorial sector of Coruscant shimmered against the darkening sky. Slumped against the glass, his son lay exhausted and gasping for breath._

_Pride at the boy's abilities swept through him. “Obi-Wan taught you well,” he told him, “but you were unwise to lower your defences.”_

_The boy pulled in a breath, coughing it out, shaking his head, pulling in another breath, “I did not want to fight you…”_

_"I do not want you to fight me," he countered. "I want you to join me! Search your feelings!" he went on, taking another step towards the boy. "You know, deep within you, that I am your father! You know Obi-Wan lied to you! Just as he lied to your Mother: twisted the truth and used her to get to me! And when he found me, he cut me down... then he turned away and left me to burn! That is why he had my lightsaber to give to you!"_

_He paused, sensing the doubt that was beginning to creep in to his son's resolve._

_"I had no idea that you were still alive, Luke," he assured him. "When I was told of your mother's death, I believed I had lost you both..."_

_He saw the boy react to his words. It was quickly hidden, but it was there. "Obi-Wan told you I knew nothing about a child," he deduced. Luke remained silent, but the brief surge of surprise had already confirmed it._

_"Obi-Wan lied to you as the Jedi lied to me," he pushed. "Did he tell you that Jedi are selfless, that they care only about others? And yet Obi-Wan used your mother, knowing she was pregnant! If the Jedi are selfless, why did they attempt to overthrow the Emperor and the Senate? Fear of losing their influence drove them to sedition! The Jedi and the Sith were more similar than the Jedi wanted to admit!"_

_He paused, giving his son time to process the information before continuing, "Lies and half-truths, Luke! Obi-Wan has offered you only lies and half-truths! I stopped a Jedi Master, in this very room, as he attempted to assassinate the Emperor. Because of that intervention, Obi-Wan came to kill me!"_

_He could sense his son's conflicting emotions. The boy was struggling under the weight of everything he had just been told... trying to separate fact from fiction, trying to find any truth in the lies Obi-Wan had told him. Finally Luke shook his head, finding his voice. "No... you're wrong...."_

_"Oh, no, my young Jedi," another voice countered. "You will find that it is you who are wrong... about a great many things..."_

_Vader stepped back, away from Luke, moving to the side as Palpatine climbed the steps and stopped beside him. Vader turned to his Emperor, holding out the silver weapon in his left hand. "His lightsaber..."_

_Palpatine took it from him, turning it over in his hand. "Ah, yes, a Jedi's weapon. Much like your father's..."_

_Vader watched as the Emperor lifted his head, fixing yellow eyes on Luke. "You have heard the truth about the Jedi. By now you must know that your Father will never turn from the Sith and from the Dark Side... So will it be with you..."_

_Luke struggled to his feet. The boy swayed, but stayed upright and he felt another rush of pride as, in answer, Luke countered, "No, your Highness. I will never turn to the Dark Side. I am a Jedi, like my father before me…”_

_"Young fool!” Palpatine laughed then turned away. “Only now, at the end, will you begin to understand!"_

_Walking across to the desk, Palpatine sank into a chair, turning back towards Luke. "Everything that has transpired has done so to my design. The woman who, so diligently, nursed you back to health is not a Rebel sympathiser: she is a loyal, Imperial agent. She has fed you specifically selected information. You came here to kill me, expecting to find me alone, expecting Lord Vader to be on the Sanctuary Moon?"_

_Luke reacted. His son’s disbelief washed through the Force. Behind the obsidian mask, he smiled. The news of the Rebel fleet's destruction, coupled with the proof of Obi-Wan's lies, would crush the boy. Soon, very soon, Luke would reach towards the Dark Side of the Force..._

_"It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator on the Sanctuary Moon," Palpatine was continuing. "Your friends walked into a trap, as did your Rebel fleet! Even now I am waiting to hear from Admiral Piett and Moff Jerjerrod, confirming the destruction of the Rebels. Very soon, Mothma, Organa and the rest of the Rebels' seditious leaders will be brought here in chains!"_

_“No!”_

_He could sense his son’s panic, felt the tug on the Dark Side of the Force. The lightsaber flew from Palpatine's hands into Luke's outstretched one... but he was faster. His own blade was already ignited, blocking his son's blow as it sliced towards Palpatine. The blades sparked and crackled against each other._

The vision swept away as quickly as it had descended. He stayed on the floor for a long moment, unsettled by what he had seen, replaying the events in his mind.

The future was never certain: it flowed and changed... but the vision had been strong. And it had not been the immediate future, it had been more distant. His son had been hurt, in pain, exhausted… He had received no training in the Dark Side, had still been clinging to the Light Side, refusing to witness the potential that the Dark Side of the Force could unleash in him.

 _The woman who has nursed you back to health_... His son was badly injured, then: so much so that it would take months for him to recover? Had Luke recovered on Coruscant? Or was he destined to walk away from Luke, once more, just as he had done at Bespin?

He had been gifted a vision then, too, on route to the city: the glimpse of a potential future. He had stopped his son falling from the platform, had pulled the boy back and thrown him into the arms of the waiting stormtroopers... only to have Luke turn on him.

_He had been lying on the floor, fighting to breathe as his respiration unit failed him; his legs cut from beneath him as they had been on Mustafar. His prosthetic hand lay at his side, severed from his wrist but still clutching the lightsaber… and Luke loomed above him, eyes blazing yellow beneath the dark hood of the cloak._

_For a long moment, the only sound had been the laboured, mechanical sounds of his breathing and the thrum of his son’s lightsaber hovering above his throat._

_Then Palpatine’s voice had echoed through the chamber. “Fulfil your destiny! Strike him down with all your hatred and take your Father’s place at my side!”_

_Luke smiled, sweeping the lightsaber back…_

The vision had faded before the blow had fallen, but Vader had still sensed the ghost of his own death. He had heeded the warning, had lured Luke into the carbon freezing chamber in an effort to prevent him ever reaching the platform... and then had walked away from Luke, allowing the boy to escape with Leia Organa.

Now it looked as if he may have to walk away again… or secure his son and hide him from Palpatine until the boy was fully recovered from his injuries.

Vader pushed himself to his feet. He would wait until he reached Vaaljajord and assessed his son. Only then would he make his decision.

oo0oo

Luke was aware that he was dreaming but he could do nothing to stop the flow of images that played through his mind. They were unfocussed, indistinct, muffled…

_He was on the floor, backed-up against the expanse of a vast picture window, unable to retreat any further: trapped. He had no strength to move. Exhausted, he could do nothing as Vader stepped into a pool of light, slowly climbing the four steps, moving towards him._

_Heart hammering in his chest, he sucked in wearied, ragged breaths: a complete contrast to the regular, measured rasp of the Sith Lord’s respirator._

_“Obi-Wan taught you well,” Vader told him, stopping in front of him, “but you were unwise to lower your defences.”_

_He pulled in a breath, coughing it out, shaking his head. “I told you I would not fight you, father…”_

_In the silence, the respirator rasped once… twice…_

_“So…” Vader’s voice rumbled, “you have accepted the truth…”_

_He dropped his head back against the cool glass, closing his eyes, nodding. Dragging in another breath, he countered, softly, “I am a Jedi, like my father before me…”_

_“The Jedi were corrupt, wrapped in secrets and half-truths,” Vader told him. “They lied to me, just as Obi-Wan lied to you!”_

_He opened his eyes, looking up at the obsidian mask. “The only truth that matters is that you are my father… You couldn’t bring yourself to kill me before. I don’t believe you’ll kill me now…”_

_Vader took a slow, deliberate step towards him. “You underestimate the power of the Dark Side. If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny!”_

_Fear flared and the breath hitched in his chest as the Sith Lord ignited the two lightsabers, one in each hand: the red of Vader’s and the green of his own_ …

oo0oo

Sinking carefully onto the edge of the bed, Tarja Karsaar reached out, taking Skywalker’s hand in hers, gently caressing the back of his fingers with her thumb. Beneath the respiration mask, his breathing was ragged. His heart-rate was fluctuating. The readouts showed a huge increase in brain activity.

His eyes snapped open.

Tarja rose to her feet, leaning across the bed, into his eye line. “Luke? Luke, can you hear me? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand!” She heard the small hitch in his breath and glanced across at the stormtroopers standing in the open door. They had their backs to her, their attention fixed on the corridor beyond.

Looking back at Skywalker, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb, she told him, softly, “Luke? Luke, please, you’re with friends. It’s Tarja. I came out to the Alvessen place. I’m here to help you. If you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hand. Please? Squeeze my hand…”

The blue eyes moved slightly… focussing on her.

Tarja smiled at him. “Klivian and Antilles are both in the medcentre,” she told him. “You are still on dialysis, but your injuries are healing. Squeeze my hand if you understand.”

His fingers slowly tightened around hers.

“Good,” she told him. She glanced at the door again before continuing, “The situation is complicated. You’re in Imperial custody and there are stormtroopers stationed at the door… but I’m going to do everything in my power to get you and your colleagues out of here. Do you understand?”

He blinked and the fingers tightened around her hand again.

“Klivian is beside you, to your left,” she told him. “He should be awake soon. Antilles is in a bacta tank, but I’ll transfer him in here as soon as we’re able take him out.” She reached up, lifting a remote from its niche in the wall. Removing her hand from his grasp, she pressed the remote into his palm. “This will raise and lower the angle of the bed. If you can feel the buttons, give it a try…”

He kept his gaze locked on hers. There was a long moment’s delay… and then the top end of the mattress slowly tilted up. She grinned at him, glancing across at the stormtroopers before looking back at him. “Don’t go crazy with that thing, okay?” she warned. He blinked at her in answer and the mattress stopped moving, before lowering a little, leaving him reclined but able to easily see the room.

“I know you must have questions, but I can’t answer them right now. And…”

Tarja trailed off, hearing one of the stormtroopers say her name. She looked around at them. A stormtrooper was turning to look at her. “Colonel Vyre requests a report on the prisoners’ conditions!” he announced.

“Tell him there is no change,” she ordered. “Skywalker remains comatose. Klivian and Antilles are both stable but yet to regain consciousness.”

She stood up, turning away from Skywalker towards Klivian as the stormtrooper echoed her words on his radio. The trooper watched her for a moment before turning back, returning his attention to the hallway.

Standing beside Klivian's bed, Tarja looked back across at Skywalker. His bright, blue eyes watched her for a moment then slid closed.

Tarja turned back to Klivian. She had no idea how to get the Rebels out of Vyre’s grasp. She had no idea who to turn to for help. Vyre believed that Per Alvessen wasn’t the only one complicit in aiding the Rebels: the Sheriff was in custody for that very reason, with warrants out for Chief Ulafssen as well as Per. Even if she could get to the Sheriff and talk to her, there was no guarantee that Ash could help her. And she had no idea how to contact the Chief or Per.

She ran through all the information she had… but still came up with nothing. Damn you, Mønaeg Erikssaar! Damn you for pulling your grandparents into this!

Thoughts of Mønaeg pulled up another memory: of Derlin, sitting in a chair at the Alvessen place. _Mønaeg Erikssaar had her grandparents' courage and they serve her memory well…_

And, quite suddenly, it all fell into place. Tarja gasped at the sudden realisation. … _they serve her memory well_ …

Per and Hetta, she realised, hadn’t just been helping the Rebels on the spur of the moment. Derlin hadn’t been suddenly deferential because he had a weapon pointing at him. Derlin had done as Per and Hetta had told him because he had known exactly who they were. The old couple were involved with the Vaaljajord Route…

More than that, Tarja reasoned. They were possibly the senior officers of the Vaaljajord Route. And it made sense, then, that their grandson, Deputy Zånder Olgenssen would be involved too… because that would give them inside knowledge of all the information in the Sheriff’s Bureau.

So had Vyre been right to accuse Sheriff Svioisaar of complicity?

No. Not necessarily, because…

And then another thought hit her. The sabacc game. The weekly sabacc game.

Per, Hetta, Zånder and the Sheriff all played sabacc at least once a week at Lady Valda’s. Chief Ulafssen played, too. As did Sigurd Arnassen. Other folks occasionally dropped in on it, the Mayor for one, but the core group never changed. Could she risk contacting Valda?

Tarja knew that Per still trusted her. No-one but Vyre knew that she was the one who had handed the Rebels over...

She checked the chronometer. Then she pulled a medscanner from her pocket, running it across Klivian's unconscious form. Pulling her holo-com unit from her pocket, she paired it with the medscanner, transferring the medical data across.

Breaking the pairing, she wiped the data from the medscanner before putting it back into her pocket. Then she accessed Valda’s personal number. The unit chimed for a long moment, then displayed an ‘accessing’ label before the small, holographic form of Valda appeared on the display.

“Specialist Karsaar,” Valda smiled. “What can I do for you?”

Tarja returned the smile. “I apologise for taking so long to get back to you with the information we discussed at your last appointment,” Tarja began, willing Valda to understand what she was trying to do. “I have it here for you, now. I think you should read it over and let me know your decision as soon as you can.”

In the moment of hesitation before Valda replied, Tarja suddenly doubted herself, wondering if she was completely wrong about the whole thing. But any doubt was swept away with Valda’s reply. “Yes…” the older woman told her. “Yes, of course. Shall I come to you?”

Tarja hit the transfer button on the com unit. "No... The data should already be streaming to you. I would have given this to you personally, but that’s proving difficult under the present circumstances. You understand.”

"I understand," Valda assured her. "These are, indeed, difficult times… The information is downloading..."

Movement at the door pulled Tarja's attention from the com unit. The stormtroopers had snapped to attention. In the corridor beyond, she heard Vyre's voice. She swore, looking back at the unit. The streaming had completed. All the information had been sent.

Tarja cut the communication, saying nothing more to Valda. Pushing the holo-com into her pocket, she turned her attention to Kilvian.

oo0oo

Even with the Force lost to him, Luke could sense the sudden change in Tarja Karsaar’s attitude. The pleasant approachable demeanour disappeared. She drew herself up, her manner suddenly business-like, clinically detached. At the edge of his vision Luke had seen movement from the stormtroopers. Beyond them, in the corridor, he could hear voices.

He thought about turning his head to see what was going on, but fear of exhausting himself, of being dragged back into sleep and not being aware of what was going on around him, forced him to remain still. He let his eyes slide half-closed.

A white-jacketed, Imperial officer walked into his line of vision. A woman walked at his side. She was familiar, but Luke couldn’t immediately place her.

Toryn Farr had taken in every detail of the medical centre as she had walked through it, committing it all to memory. If Artoo remained unable to slice into the med-centre mainframe and access the surveillance nodes, the information they would need to rescue the injured pilots would have to come entirely from her.

She followed the Imperial Colonel as he walked past two stormtroopers and into a treatment room. Toryn paused at the door, taking in the scene.

To her left, Klivian and Skywalker lay surrounded by medical equipment. A woman dressed in medical greys was standing at Klivian's bedside, her back to them. There was an empty bed against the wall to her right.

Luke and Hobbie were being held in the same room... but where was Wedge?

"Specialist Karsaar?"

Toryn watched as Vyre's voice pulled the medical specialist's attention away from Klivian. She turned towards the Colonel, her eyes flickering briefly across Toryn before settling on Vyre. "Colonel."

"This woman apparently has authority to take custody of Klivian and Antilles," Vyre began.

Toryn moved, crossing in front of Vyre, heading towards Klivian. "What are their injuries, Specialist? And where is Antilles?"

With a thump of relief and elation, Luke recognised the woman’s voice. Major Farr. She was Rebel Alliance. The Rebel Alliance had sent a rescue team.

The exhilaration washed away as quickly as it had swept in, leaving stark reality behind. They were far from safe. They were still trapped in a heavily guarded facility… and deep in his gut, Luke knew that Vader was close. Anxiety pushed in. Vader’s voice echoed in his head: words from the dream...

_You underestimate the power of the Dark Side… you will meet your destiny…_

Panic surged through his belly, expanding outwards, crushing the air from his lungs. He struggled to breath. His heart skittered unevenly in his chest, blood ringing in his ears. A flood of heat swept up through his body setting off rivulets of sweat running across skin. Alarms warbled into life.

“What’s happening?” Vyre demanded, concerned by the sudden tension in Tarja Karsaar's stance. Was Skywalker's condition worsening? With Vader's arrival imminent, that did not bode well.

Tarja ignored him, her attention on the Rebel, double-checking the data on the displays. She yelled for a medical droid. His heart rate and blood pressure were elevated. His face was flushed and glistening with sweat. Everything indicated a panic attack: a fight or flight response that had possibly been sparked by the Imperial presence in the med room, or by post-trauma flash-back. It was disorienting and terrifying but it wasn't normally life-threatening. However, right now she didn't know enough about the unusual coma he was in... She couldn’t take the risk of him going into cardiac arrest.

A droid rolled to a stop on the other side of Skywalker’s bed. “Point five units of trichlotrazide!” Tarja ordered. The mild sedative would calm his distress but still leave him aware of what was going on.

"Point five units trichlotrazide," the droid repeated. An arm extended, attaching to the canula unit on Skywalker's arm.

"What is happening?" Vyre demanded again.

Attention still on Skywalker and the medical displays, Tarja supplied, "He's tachycardic and in respiratory distress. Get out!” she ordered. “And take her with you!”

“Specialist Karsaar,” Vyre began.

Tarja rounded on him. “Out!” she ordered again. “Now! I will update you with his condition when I know more!”

Vyre blinked, irritation sparking. He opened his mouth to remind her of her place, but she had already turned her attention back to Skywalker. An alarm chimed again beside the Rebel’s bed and Vyre closed his mouth, irritation fading back into concern. Vader, he reminded himself, was due to arrive at any moment. If Skywalker’s condition was deteriorating, the only person who could remedy that was Tarja Karsaar.

Discretion, it appeared, would be prudent in such a situation. “I will expect an update before the hour is out!” he told Karsaar. Then he turned his attention to female bounty hunter. “Allow me to escort you back to your ship.”

Loathed to walk away, Toryn Farr dragged her attention away from Skywalker, glancing back at Klivian. His eyes were half open. He was looking up at her. She held Klivian's gaze, nodding, hoping that Vyre would see it only as an agreement to his offer. Then she turned away, walking towards Vyre. "Of course, Colonel."


	12. Mission Abort + 21hrs

_Mission Abort + 21hrs_

_10:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

LEIA WALKED INTO THE FOYER of the bordella. Ahead of her, a beautifully carved, richly carpeted staircase led to the rooms above. To her right, the foyer opened out into an opulently decorated room, with low tables and sumptuous sofas and chairs. The room was occupied by a small group of men and women. They rose to their feet, one by one as they saw her, looking at her curiously. A woman moved through them, walking towards her and it took a moment for Leia to realise that it was Cara Dune. Behind Dune, three other people also walked across the room towards her.

Lifting her hand to her neck, Leia unlocked the bio-helmet before lifting it from her head.

"Welcome to Malhördhem," Dune greeted with a smile. Then the smile faded and she told Leia, "Damned pleased to see you, Ma'am... Allow me to introduce you to some new friends?"

Leia smiled at her, "Please."

Dune turned. "Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan... the officers of the Valjajord route…"

Valda stepped forward, holding out her hand to Leia. "You are always welcome, here, Princess."

"Thank you," Leia told her, grasping the offered hand and shaking it, warmly. "I regret that circumstances have conspired to bring us all here. Your loyalty to the Rebel Alliance would have been better served by protecting you from Imperial attention."

"We all knew what we had signed up for, Your Highness," Per assured her. "We all knew what we were standing against and what it might mean."

Leia looked from him, to the woman standing at his side. Smiling, she asked, "Do I have the honour of speaking to Mønaeg Erikssaar's family?"

"You do," Per told her, slipping an arm around Hetta, drawing her closer to him.

"I am sorry for your loss," Leia told them, softly and sincerely. "Many brave Rebel Alliance personnel died on Hoth," she went on, looking from Per to Hetta, "but Mønaeg's sacrifice, and that of the squad she fought with, saved lives.”

Leia paused for a moment, then went on, “I didn’t know Mønaeg, personally, but I do know that her senior officers spoke highly of her. She was the best of the best. She was deployed, on Hoth, with Sergeant Major Callum's squad. They held their ground against overwhelming odds, defending the outer perimeter of the base. They slowed the Imperial attack and bought time for many of us to escape." She smiled, sadly, then assured them, "There are no words that can adequately convey the depth of gratitude I hold for Mønaeg and the other personnel who gave their lives on Hoth."

There was silence in the room for a long moment after Leia stopped speaking. Hetta said nothing, not trusting her voice, her chest tight with tears that she refused to shed again. Per closed his eyes, kissing Hetta’s hair, clearing his voice and swallowing before he trusted himself to speak.

"We appreciate your words, your Highness," he told Leia, hoarsely. "We always knew Mønaeg would make us proud. Always knew both our grandkids would make us proud. But right now there's other folks' grandkids in trouble. Two of them are lying dead in the Town Square… and I reckon that's where we need to be focussing our attention."

Hetta made a small, choked sound and turned to swat him on the chest. "Per Alvessen!" she chided. "You mind your manners!" Dashing tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, she told Leia, "You must forgive my husband. He's a good man, but blunt and straight-talking..."

Leia smiled and, despite the gravity of the situation, found herself wondering about her own blunt, straight-talking man. Would she ever have the chance to echo Hetta in twenty years’ time: admonishing Han to mind his manners? Would she have the chance to grow old with him, like Hetta had with Per?

 _There aren't enough scoundrels in your life_... Han's voice echoed in her head.

She swallowed, hard, telling Hetta, "There is nothing to forgive. Your..."

"Your Highness!" a voice called.

Leia looked beyond the older couple towards Haarlan Gelnara as he made his way towards her. "Your Highness... Artoo says that a Star Destroyer has just dropped into normal space and is routing towards Vaaljajord.”

Leia swore softly but succinctly. He was here: Vader was here.

She had known that they might not get Derlin, Luke and the others off Vaaljajord before Vader arrived, but the hope had been there. Now it was gone. The situation wasn't completely hopeless, but it had just become more complicated.

Leia took a deep, calming breath. Settling the helmet over her head, again, she keyed the mic. “Farn! Ne Boushh…” she announced in Ubese.

On the steps of the medical centre, Toryn Farr paused. Keying her comlink, she replied. “Farn. Go ahead?”

Colonel Marek Vyre turned, looking at her, quirking an eyebrow as a synthesised voice spoke to her in a language Vyre didn't understand. To him it sounded like a garbled, “Ya poe raktay zass.”

Toryn Farr did nothing to suppress the surge of dread that washed through her at Leia's news. Instead she embraced it, knowing that it would help keep her wits sharp... because they'd run out of time. The only way they could play this now, was brazen: and try to steal Derlin, Skywalker and the other pilots out from underneath Vader's nose.

She answered Leia's warning with a simple, "Copied!" before tucking the comlink back into her pocket. Then she looked at Vyre, awarding him a smirk. “Lord Vader’s ship just dropped out of hyperspace, Colonel. Looks like you might be rid of us…”

Vyre pushed down a surge of irritation. It appeared that Vader was not only sanctioning the exchange of Imperial prisoners for profit, he was communicating with his own, private mercenaries before loyal, Imperial personnel. It left a sour taste in Vyre's mouth and, for a brief moment, he wondered if Lord Vader's actions were, in any way, being sanctioned by the Emperor. He filed the thought away for later consideration, bringing his attention back to the situation at hand and the bounty hunter at his side. He gave her a wide smile. "Then, perhaps you would like to accompany me to greet Lord Vader on his arrival?"

That hadn't been anywhere on Toryn's list of intentions, but to refuse Vyre could cause suspicion that she couldn't afford. So she nodded, telling him, "I'd be delighted."

Vyre's comlink chimed as he turned away and he answered it. "Colonel," his aide told him, "Compliments of Admiral Piett. The Lord Darth Vader will be arriving imminently to take charge of the Rebel prisoners."

"Have they supplied a landing location?" Vyre asked.

"Yes, Sir," his aide confirmed. "The town square."

"Have all detachments assembled for Lord Vader's arrival," Vyre ordered. "I'm on my way."

oo0oo

Artoo burbled softly, throwing data onto the screen. Dune read it aloud. "Vyre's moving all the troops to the town square. That's where Vader will be landing..."

Deputy Zånder Olgenssen looked from Dune to his grandfather, before looking back at Artoo. "All the stormtroopers?"

"Seems so," Dune confirmed.

"Including the ones guarding Derlin and the Sheriff?"

Cara Dune looked at him then asked, "Artoo? Is there anything on..." See trailed off as the little droid threw information up onto the screen. "Two stormtroopers are remaining on station there."

Per looked at his grandson, knowing the look on his face, of old. "What plans are you hatching, son?"

Zånder thought for another moment before offering, "I figured I'd go back to the Sheriff's bureau... Markus Fjeldssen might throw in with us. I ain't sure about Erika Valsaar, but I reckon neither of them will place the Empire above the Sheriff. With a bit of luck I'll be able to slip her and Derlin out the back while the Colonel's attention is elsewhere. Might be our only chance of getting them out."

"It'll heighten security," Gelnara pointed out.

"But it would leave us with only the medcentre to hit..." Dune countered.

"And make Vyre look a might incompetent," Zånder added, a slow smile pulling across his face. "Especially with him putting out a warrant on Per Alvessen but not pausing to check that Alvessen's grandson might be a Sheriff's Deputy. And not giving the Sheriff enough time to warn him before putting a gun at her head."

Per grinned at his grandson. "It being the Deputy and not the Sheriff who coordinated the rescue of the Rebels, leaving the Sheriff as innocent in all this as a newborn..."

"As the interrogation records will prove," Zånder finished, his smile disappearing into a tight-lipped frown of distaste.

Per looked at the Princess Leia. "Will that work for your people?"

Leia looked at Dune and Gelnara for confirmation, thinking aloud, "Having split mission objectives can be problematic, especially with limited resources."

"Having more than one objective usually ends up being messy for extraction," Dune agreed.

"Then I'll get Derlin and the Sheriff out," Zånder confirmed.

"Where will you take them?" Per asked.

Zånder pulled a face. "Still working on that one," he admitted. "I don't want to compromise this place by bringing them back here, not with Artoo plugged so far into the network."

"Bjorner has a hunting bothy further up the mountain," Per suggested.

"That might be a plan," Zånder confirmed. "I'll let you know..." Then he turned, looking at Leia, Dune and Gelnara. "We have ourselves a plan?"

Leia nodded. "I take full accountability. I'll go back to the ship and brief the strike team."

"Do you want some help?" Dune asked the Deputy.

Zånder shook his head. "No. Best you stay here. I ain't sure who I can trust at the office..."

He turned to go but Per stopped him. "You take care, you hear!" the old man ordered, softly. "Losing Mønaeg almost broke your grandmother..."

Zånder smiled gently, resting a hand on his grandfather's shoulder. "Ain't got any intentions of being heroically stupid, Gransa. Although... I think I just shot down any chances of stealing that date with Beransa away from Sig..."

"Looks like you might be coming with us," Dune put in, keeping her attention on the data screen. "I'd gladly buy you a kaffin..."

Per chuckled, softly, as Zånder turned to look at her. "Ma'am," Zånder drawled softly, "you got yourself a date! Only, it wouldn't be any sort of gentleman that allowed a lady to buy the kaffin..."

"She takes it black," Gelnara supplied.

"With a dash of Daemor syrup," Dune finished.

Zånder grinned, looking from Gelnara to Cara Dune. Then he turned, looking at Leia. "Should I be asking your permission, Ma'am?"

She smiled at him. "Not at all, Deputy. And the trooper makes a good point. It would be dangerous for you to remain here. There is a place in the Alliance for you," she assured him. She looked at Per, "For all of you."

Per shook his head, "I am an old man, Your Highness, too set in my ways. I've spent my life around trees and don't know much more."

"I understand," Leia told him, knowing that now was not the time to press the point. Per Alvessen was far more than just an old man. He and his wife had put together an important part of the fight against the Empire. Leia knew, better than most, that the Empire would do everything in its power to hunt him down. Instead, she looked at Zånder. "Artoo will monitor what's going on."

He nodded then turned. Laying a hand, briefly, on his grandfather's shoulder, he headed for the Sheriff's bureau.

oo0oo

Finally satisfied that Luke was calm and stable, Tarja Karsaar turned away from the Rebel pilot. Sighing softly, she rubbed weary hands across her face.

"Ma'am?"

Hobbie's soft voice pulled her attention away from her tiredness and she opened her eyes, turning to look at him. He reached up, dragging the respiration mask away from his mouth and nose. "Is Luke okay?"

Sinking onto the edge of Hobbie's bed, she glanced across at the stormtroopers who stood in the doorway. They still had their backs to her. Looking at Hobbie, she assured him, "I think he took some sort of anxiety attack. He's calmer now. He's sleeping."

Hobbie swallowed then nodded. "The woman..." he began.

"Don't you pay any mind to anything she said," Tarja interrupted.

She trailed off as Hobbie put in, "No, you don't understand... It's a rescue mission..."

Tarja shook her head, wondering if the medication was having an adverse effect on the young pilot, "Hobbie..."

"The woman with Vyre," he interjected, "she's Rebel..."

"No," Tarja contradicted, "she's a bounty hunter."

Hobbie shook his head, swallowing again before continuing, "She's a Major... in SpecForce... She's Rebel Alliance. It's a rescue mission. They sent a rescue mission..."

Tarja blinked, looking at Hobbie open-mouthed for a long moment. Things began to fall into place. Luke had been calm until Vyre had appeared with the bounty hunter. The pilot hadn't reacted until the woman had spoken. Had he recognised her voice? Was that what had triggered his anxiety attack?

And if the Alliance had sent a rescue mission...

She checked her chronometer. Wedge had been in the bacta barely long enough for it to have taken effect, but if the Alliance had sent a rescue mission, she couldn't risk leaving him in the tank any longer. The rescue might be swinging into action even now. She needed to get Wedge Antilles into the same room as Luke and Hobbie.

Standing up, she squeezed Hobbie's hand, telling him, "Wedge is in a bacta tank. If help is here, I need to get him out."

He nodded, his eyes sliding closed. She stood up, heading towards the door. She didn't bother to ask the stormtroopers to move out of the way, instead she simply barged through the middle of them. They made no comment in her wake as she strode down the corridor away from them. Turning a corner, she headed for the bacta tanks, walking through the doors as they opened ahead of her.

Two of the tanks were occupied: one by a young girl whose parents were waiting in the family room, the other by Antilles. A droid rolled towards her as she approached. "How is the Rebel?" she asked.

"Dialysis has reduced spore infestation and is preventing it from increasing," the droid reported. "Renal function remains steady at sixty-eight percent. Blood oxygen levels have reached eighty-nine percent. The bacta flush has significantly reduced the scarring to his lungs. Bone integrity in the areas of trauma has reached ninety-five percent. Epidermal integrity of the skin is at ninety-eight percent."

Tarja chewed on the inside of her lip, weighing up the pros and cons of leaving Wedge in the bacta tank until the bone integrity was higher. It was taking longer than she had anticipated, but it would take far longer outside of the bacta tank...

"Is there any sign of internal infection?"

"None, Specialist Karsaar," the droid confirmed.

With his epidermis almost fully healed, and no sign of any of his internal organs being affected by infection, there was negligible risk of organ failure. Like Klivian, they had been able to treat the burns in time. And dialysis could continue outside of the bacta tank.

"Take him out," she ordered.

"Specialist Karsaar," the droid began.

"That is a direct order!" Tarja shot back. "Remove Antilles from the bacta and secure him with the other Rebels!"

"As you require," the droid confirmed, turning away.

oo0oo

Sheriff's Deputy Zånder Olgenssen walked across the street, heading up the steps of the jailhouse. The door opened at his approach and he walked through, nodding to Kaysix at the comms console. Pausing beside the droid, he looked around the room. It was empty apart from Markus Fjeldssen and Erika Valsaar. Erika's attention was on the data screens, but Markus turned.

"Zånder..." He pushed himself to his feet, heading towards Olgenssen.

Erika dragged her attention away from the data screens. "That Star Destroyer is the _Executor_ ," she began, "one of the flagships of..." She trailed off, seeing Zånder.

"Hey," the younger Deputy acknowledged as Erika pushed herself to her feet. "Have we been left all alone here? No stormtroopers watching over us?"

"There's two stationed in the back," Markus told him. "They ain't trusting us too far... but, like Erika said, a Star Destroyer just pulled into orbit and they've mostly been called to the square."

"Zånder," Erika interrupted, "you know there's a warrant out on your Gransa?"

"I know," Zånder confirmed. "He's safe. So's Granmaar..."

Markus nodded, relieved that the old couple were out of harm's way. Then he frowned, searching Zånder's face, trying to find the words to ask the question he needed answered. He counted Zånder as a friend; had shared more than one ale with him; knew that he had designs on Beransa Olvensaar and was trying to romance her out of Sigurd Arnassen's embrace; knew that he supported the Mørne Supernovas; that he preferred paken to sabbac... Apart from that, he realised now, he knew very little about what really meant anything to Zånder.

"Buddy..." he began, softly, "Did Per really help those Rebels? Did you?"

Zånder looked from Markus to Erika, then towards the closed doorway to the cells. Time was pressing, but if the Deputies were on-side and would help him, it would be far easier to get Derlin and Ash out.

He looked back at them. "There were people trapped in burning wreckage," he told them, simply. "What would you have done?"

Markus stepped closer and Zånder braced himself to fight.

"Erika and me, we've been talking," Markus began. "We ain't agreeing with your politics but this badge means more than politics. And we ain't saying that justice for terrorists is a bad thing, but those men were tortured then executed outside due process."

"If that's the law we're supposed to uphold," Erika went on, "then we're walking away." She exchanged a look with Markus and then told Zånder, "Whatever you and Per are doing, count us in."

Relief flooding through him, Zånder gave them both a small smile, telling them, "Thank you."

"So," Markus asked, curiosity getting the better of him now that the first questions had been asked, "are you guys only involved because you pulled the Rebels out that ship? Or are you and your Gransa up to your necks in the Vaaljajord Route?"

Zånder opened his mouth, then closed it again. Things might have changed, but bringing folks into the Vaaljajord deal wasn't his call: that was Per and Hetta's, and something they never did lightly. There was too much at stake. So he shook his head, telling them, "I can't answer for my Gransa, but I'm only concerned with the Rebels we pulled out of the forest."

"And Ash helped you..." It was a statement, not a question. Zånder looked at Erika, saying nothing for a moment, reticent to make any comment that might confirm or deny her conclusion. But it was taken out of his hands as Erika went on, “Ash wouldn’t leave them in that wreckage to burn, any more than you… or us…”

“We can discuss all this later,” Zånder assured them. "Right now, though, we need to take out the troopers and get Ash and Derlin out of here..."

"We'll get them out," Erika assured him.

"Then what?" Markus asked as she turned to the nearest screen, pulling up the view from the observation diode in from the cell corridor.

"Once we've taken the stormtroopers down, we can discuss that with Ash... if she's able..."

Markus nodded then asked, "So how do we do this?"

"Water," Erika told them, turning and heading for the cooler cabinet. "I'll go in with some cartons of water, get their attention. Then you can both take them out."

"The old smash and grab," Zånder commented. "Simple but effective."

"As long as it stays simple," Markus cautioned.

"Well," Erika quipped, keeping a straight face, "with your marksmanship, it's bound to get messy!"

Markus rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, countering, "You make one, little mistake as a teenager..."

"Don't worry," Zånder assured him. "The troopers won't be far enough away for you to miss. You ready?" he went on before the Deputy could protest further.

Markus nodded.

"When I call your name," Zånder told Erika, "you hit the floor, got it?"

She grinned at him. "Damn right I'm hitting the floor!"

Zånder chuckled softly, then sobered, cautioning, "If this all goes wrong, you take me down and walk the Imperial line! This is my doing. You don't get involved, got it?"

"It's not going to go wrong," Erika assured him, turning and walking towards the door to the cells.

"What she said!" Markus agreed, shooting Zånder a grin before following her.

Zånder looked after them, conscience pricking him. He was pretty sure they had no idea what they were getting into... _We ain't agreeing with your politics, but this badge means more than politics._

He needed their help. All he could do after that was protect them as best he could. And if that meant taking them both down with a stun shot and getting Ash and Derlin out himself, so be it. Taking a deep breath, he went after them.

oo0oo

Bren Derlin tried to take a deep, measured breath and breathe through the pain. The muscles in his shoulder pushed waves of discomfort up into his arm and fingers and down into his back. He closed his eyes, trying not to cough as the breath caught in his lungs. He failed. Pain radiated out from his shoulder.

The coughing subsided quickly and he groaned, trying to move to ease the discomfort. He had known that it was only a matter of time before the tree spores began to affect him: although some, small part of him had resolutely refused to believe that he had been infected.

He heard a woman's voice, calm and confident. One of the Deputies? The troopers challenged her, but he couldn't make out what she said in response. Then someone yelled, "Erika!" and two shots rang out.

There were two clattering thumps. Derlin's head jerked up. Ignoring the pain, he looked past the cell bars, to the corridor beyond. The stormtroopers were gone. No, he realised... they were still there, but collapsed on the floor. Hope surged.

A woman unlocked the cell gate, sliding it back. She moved towards him. "Major Derlin, apologies for the delay..."

Derlin looked at the Sheriff’s Deputy. He shook his head, "No... You can't do this... You’re risking too much!”

Erika ignored him, inspecting the binders that secured his wrists to the bars. They were Imperial issue. She swore. "We're going to need cutters..."

"I'll get them!" Markus told her, heading back out into the main office.

"No!" Derlin countered, again. "You can't do this... You’re risking everyone in Malhördhem!”

"Shut up!" Erika ordered. "Zånder's here to get you out with Ash. The _Executor_ just dropped into orbit and all the Imperials are jumping to attention..."

Fear and relief swept through Derlin: fear that Vader was finally here, but relief that the Deputies weren't acting on their own. Zånder was with the Malhördhem resistance. This was part of a bigger plan. Had help finally arrived from the Rebel Alliance?

"How is Ash?" he asked. He had heard her being interrogated, heard her cries and her soft defiance.

"I ain't sure," the Deputy supplied. "Zånder's with her..."

oo0oo

Zånder sank to his knees, putting a carton of water on the floor beside him. Sliding an arm beneath the Sheriff's shoulder, he eased her off the floor, gently cradling her against him. Her jaw was bruised and swollen, her lip split and crusted with blood. Zånder knew that her uniform was hiding more bruising. "Sheriff?" he asked softly. "Sheriff? You with us?"

Ash dragged her eyes open, looking up at him through a drug-fogged haze. It was difficult to get the words to form, but she managed it. "What..." she began.

Zånder reached for the water, flipping the top off with his thumb. He held the carton to Ash's lips. She swallowed down the trickle of water then turned her head to the side, asking, "What's the situation?"

"Some Imperial big-wig has arrived to take custody of the Rebels. We had a window to get you and Derlin out."

"No," she began.

"The Rebels have sent help," Zånder interrupted, softly. "They need you and Derlin out of here so they can concentrate on the med centre."

Ash blinked up at him, trying to think through the fog of the drugs. "Antilles?"

"Is in the med centre," Zånder supplied.

"Vyre... tortured him..."

Zånder sighed, nodding. "I know. But he's in the med centre. He's getting help."

Ash closed her eyes, nodding, swallowing. Then she opened them again, looking up at Zånder. "I want... that... bastard!"

"It's already plotted," Zånder assured her. "Story is that it wasn't the Sheriff coordinating the Rebel rescue, it was one of her Deputies. Me, to be exact: grandson of the man Vyre had a warrant issued on. Only, Vyre didn't leave the Sheriff enough time to warn him about who I was. So now I'm back to get her out, and rescue Derlin... and leave Vyre looking a might stupid in the process, what with his superior officer just having arrived and all..."

Ash concentrated hard, forcing her mind to focus despite the drugs. Zånder appeared to have everything in hand and worked out. There was something not quite right, though... Something she knew she was missing, but couldn't place...

"Can you stand?” Zånder asked her. "We need to go. Now."

“Don’t know…” she admitted.

She groaned softly as Zånder lifted her, helping to her feet. Her legs felt weak and clumsy. She leant against him and he supported her as they walked towards the door of the cell.

"You okay, Sheriff?"

Ash looked up at Markus, nodding. Then her gaze slid past him to where Derlin was standing beside Erika. "Are we all going?" Something about that unsettled her, but she wasn’t sure why.

"No," Zånder told her. "Just you, me and Derlin."

"The plan is for him to stun us before you leave," Erika told her.

Ash considered that for a moment, letting Zånder guide her out into the corridor. They paused so that Markus could cut through the binders around her wrist. Ash looked down at the bodies of the stormtroopers and pulled her wrists away from the cutters, realising what had been troubling her. "Wait..."

"Boss..."

"You... have to leave me..."

"No," Zånder countered, "we have to get you out of here!"

"Hear me out..." she began. Eyes closed, concentrating hard on forming the words, she went on, "How... How are they going to know...?"

Zånder frowned, not understanding her. "Huh?" He glanced at Markus and Erika.

Ash took a breath, trying to get the details clear in her mind. "I need to be here... to tell Vyre he got it wrong..."

"I can do that," Markus contradicted, "or Erika..."

"Better... coming from me," Ash countered. "Think, Zånder! I'd see the troopers gunned down... You opening the cells... taking Derlin away..."

"And make it out to the office to find Markus and I unconscious!" Erika put in, realising where Ash's reasoning was going.

"Kaysix deactivated..." Ash went on. "I can sound the alarm... too late. You'll be gone..."

"No," Zånder began.

"The Imperials are more likely to believe things if she stays," Erika countered. "If she's innocent, why would she run?"

"Zånder," Derlin put in, softly, "the Deputy is right. The Sheriff maintained her innocence all the time she was being questioned..."

"If Vyre's to look incompetent..." Ash added, "...it has to come from me... And I want him..."

"It's too risky!" Zånder warned, loathed to leave her behind to face Vyre.

"Zånder," Markus tried, "we all took the oath to protect folks and uphold the law. Law says no-one can be punished without their guilt being proven. Vyre had no evidence when he beat up on the Sheriff. And he only had circumstantials when he executed those boys in the square. My gut might tell me that Derlin, here, is a Rebel terrorist but my gut ain't good enough for the law. I ain't going to stand back and let Vyre murder or torture anyone else. Ash's testimony can help bring him down."

"Go!" Ash told Zånder, pulling away from him, leaning back against the bars to steady herself. "You're running out of time..."

Swearing softly, Zånder looked from Ash to the other Deputies. Knowing he was beaten, knowing that their argument was a good one, he turned, stepping over the bodies of the stormtroopers and heading back into the main office. "Artoo," he instructed, looking up into the surveillance diode, "Erase all the footage from just before I came in, until just after I leave!"

"Ar-who?" Markus asked, following him into the office.

"Never mind," Zånder told him. Pulling out his sidearm, he turned. The stun shot hit Markus in the chest, pushing him backwards onto the floor to lie against one of the desks. Erika moved to check on him.

"Is he okay?" Zånder asked.

"He'll be fine," she assured him then rose to her feet. "I should be in the cells..."

He nodded, telling her, "Thank you."

"No need," she smiled, turning and walking into the cell corridor, keeping her back to him. "Get those boys out."

The stun shot dropped her forward across the floor.

Zånder moved quickly, checking on her. "Kaysix," he ordered, turning to the droid. "Shut down... and thank you."

"Shutting down, Deputy Olgenssen," the droid confirmed. "Good luck."

Derlin had helped the Sheriff back into the cell and Zånder followed them. "Ash, Gransa suggested I take Derlin to old man Bjorner's hunting bothy. You got any other ideas?"

"The other Deputy said my people were here," Derlin put in before Ash could answer. "Where are they?"

"Main anchorage on the edge of town," Zånder supplied.

"Then that's the best place to go," Derlin told him. "And I’m not sure how far I’m going to be able to walk... Not sure I’d make a hike through the woods…"

Zånder quirked an eyebrow. "You having trouble breathing?"

Derlin nodded, confirming, "Chest feels tight..."

Zånder swore. Then he looked at Ash, who was settling herself unsteadily back onto the floor. "You sure you're going to be okay?"

"Go!" she told him, leaning back against the cell wall. "You're running out of time!"

Zånder walked out of the cells area, through the main office and checked outside. It was raining again. The streets were deserted. The soft whine of a ship's engines floated down to him. The Imperial senior officer was almost here.

He couldn't risk taking Derlin straight to the Rebel ship...

Or maybe he could...

With Imperial attention on the arriving dignitary, now might be the ideal time. There were plenty of places at the anchorage to hide. And there were vehicles sitting outside that he could use: Markus' landspeeder, for one.

Walking back into the main office area, he looked back up at the surveillance diode. "Artoo, we're leaving. We're heading for the anchorage! I'll keep in touch."

“Wait!” Derlin countered, looking up at the diode. “Artoo,” he began. His breath caught in his throat and he broke off, breathing in slowly and deeply before continuing, “Artoo, get word to Alliance Command. Vyre told me that Vaaljajord’s marked, has been since the student riots. He said the Emperor had been biding his time, that Vaaljajord would be made an example of.”

He paused, trying to remember Vyre’s exact wording. “He said that Hoth was only the beginning of what was about to be visited on both the Rebel Alliance and those who supported us, that in a short time no one would dare hold their hand out to help the Rebellion…”

“Marked?” Zånder asked, concern written across his face. “Marked how?”

Derlin shook his head, looking at him, “I wish I knew,” he admitted.

Deep in his gut, though, Derlin had a feeling that he knew exactly what Vyre was alluding to. Nothing had been confirmed, but rumours had reached Alliance Command that the Yavin Death Star might not be the only one in existence. And if those rumours were true, the Emperor might just have placed Vaaljajord within the new weapon’s sights.

Looking back up at the surveillance diode, he ordered, “Get that information to Alliance Command as soon as you can, Artoo.”

oo0oo

Flanked by his own, personal stormtroopers, Vader sat in the passenger section of the shuttle. Eyes closed, his awareness was completely focussed on the Force. The ship was on final approach to Malhördhem and still there was no whisper of his son's presence.

He had not anticipated this silence. He had expected some small stirring in the Force; a weak eddy of the unique energy that was his son. Instead there was nothing, and the lack of presence was becoming... concerning.

On his way here to Vaaljajord he had seen a possible future, one where the Force ran strong and clear through the boy.

The Force had been the only constant in a galaxy that had thrown him friendship, love, betrayal and grief. He had believed in the Light Side, but his destiny had lain with the Dark Side. He trusted it implicitly... and yet doubt was creeping in.

The ship slowed and Vader heard the soft whine of the lower tri-plane wings lifting. Soon he would be standing by Luke's side and the answers would be clear.

Another line of reasoning began to form as he pushed himself to his feet and moved to stand at the top of the ramp. With Luke's presence unclear within the Force, Palpatine would suspect nothing if he returned to Coruscant with the announcement that the boy was dead. He could hide Luke away until he recovered....

If he ever recovered.

_I will never turn to the Dark Side. I am a Jedi, like my father before me..._

The remnants of the vision whispered to Vader and his memories flowed back to Bespin. Lightsaber gone, Luke had clung to the platform, injured but defiant. The scream of denial had ripped out of his son's throat, and the Dark Side had flowed in, wrapping around him.

Luke's jump from the platform had not been completely unexpected. That possible future had been shown to him in another vision while on-route to the Cloud City. In that vision he had caught the boy as he jumped, pulling him back and throwing him into the arms of the waiting stormtroopers... only for him to lose control of Luke to Palpatine.

_Lying on the floor, fighting to breathe as the respiration unit began to fail, he looked up at his son. Looming above him, eyes blazing yellow beneath the dark hood of the cloak, Luke watched him, lightsaber held ready._

_“Fulfil your destiny!" Palpatine's voice had ordered from the darkness. "Strike him down with all your hatred and take your Father’s place at my side!”_

The vision had faded before the death blow had fallen, but Vader had been forewarned... and so he had not caught his son. Instead, he had turned and walked away, knowing that to stop Luke's fall would not have brought about the Empire he had once dreamed of with Padme. Instead the boy would have been his own death.

_Son, come with me..._

The Millennium Falcon had disappeared into hyperspace... but the seeds had been sown. Luke would be unable to escape the revelation of his parentage so easily. 

_I am a Jedi, like my father before me..._

And, just like Anakin Skywalker, Luke would accept and embrace his Sith identity once he finally understood the full extent of the Jedi lies, and witnessed the true power and potential of the Dark Side of the Force. Anticipation washed through Vader. The ramp slowly lowered.

He was close, so very close, to seeing Luke again...

_Soon, my son..._

A gust of wind blew into the shuttle, tugging at the ends of his cloak. It swirled around his legs as he walked down the ramp into the dull, grey evening. Behind him, thunder rumbled. A dark-haired man in the white uniform jacket of an ISB officer, snapped to attention. Around the square, stormtroopers followed. Only the woman standing at the ISB officer's side made no movement.

Colonel Marek Vyre saluted smartly then gave the Dark Lord of the Sith a short, formal bow. "Lord Vader, your presence honours us."

He straightened as Vader took a step towards him. "You will take me to Skywalker!" Vader ordered. "You can apprise me of the situation on the way!"

"Of course, Lord Vader," Vyre confirmed. Then he hesitated, before indicating the woman at his side, risking, "Should your bounty hunter accompany us?"

Vader turned, looking at her. She inclined her head in greeting. He didn't recognise her and would have dismissed her, except for the waves of irritation that flowed off of Vyre as her presence was acknowledged: irritation that was partly focused on Vader himself.

Impatient to see his son, Vader pushed the situation aside, if only for the moment. "No," he told Vyre. "The bounty hunter will remain here until we return."


	13. Mission Abort + 22hrs

_Mission Abort + 22hrs_

_11:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

HAMPERED BY MANACLED WRISTS Sheriff Ashtor Svioisaar grasped hold of the cell bars and dragged herself ungracefully to her feet. Her ribs and her stomach rebelled the movement, her face thumped pain. She groaned softly, closing her eyes, swallowing against the nausea, resting her forehead on the cool metal.

Taking long, slow breaths, she waited until the queasiness had subsided then risked opening her eyes. The world around her was still not-quite in focus, but it didn't tilt. The ground beneath her remained steady. Clinging to the bars, she risked a step, then another, moving slowly into the corridor.

The body of a stormtrooper blocked her path, and she stood for a long moment, trying to work out if she should attempt to step over him, or if taking the risk of letting go of the bars to move around him was the better solution. Letting go of the metal, she tried to take a step... and ended up reaching for the bars again to steady herself as her foot seemed to connect with the floor at an odd angle. Nausea washed through her. She groaned.

Clinging to the bars, she couldn't stop the soft bubble of wry laughter that simmered up from her chest. The Colonel's sadistic attention to duty was a blessing in disguise. It didn't matter how long it took her to get to the main office, she could blame the after-effects of his interrogation drugs for her slow response. And the longer she took to raise the alarm, the longer Zånder had to get Derlin to safety.

Still chuckling softly, she sank back to her knees. Dropping onto her elbows she began a slow, unsteady crawl around the body of the stormtrooper.

oo0oo

Leia looked around the faces of the SpecForces soldiers, assembled in the living area of the ship. She had made her way back to the anchorage as soon as Artoo had confirmed that Derlin was with Zånder Olgenssen. She had left Artoo at the bordella with Cara Dune and Haarlan Gelnara, to coordinate with the resistance.

Beside her, Shawn Valdez cleared his throat to gather the soldiers' attention.

As their attention focussed on her, Leia began, "Lord Vader has just landed. Major Derlin has been extracted and is with a member of the local resistance cell who is trying to get him as close to the anchorage, to this ship, as he can."

“What about the Sheriff?” one of the sergeants, Meleen Arisii asked.

“She remained behind to protect her people,” Leia supplied. “The local resistance cell will now coordinate that situation. They’ve already instigated a plan to discredit Colonel Vyre and return at least some authority to local law enforcement, hence Sheriff Svioisaar remaining behind.”

“Binders _and_ guts,” one of the soldiers quipped. “Wonder if she’s free on my next downtime…”

Lynk Comdhail, the other sergeant, reached over and swatted the trooper across the back of the head as the other soldiers chuckled or groaned. “Concentrate!” he ordered.

He turned back to Leia, asking, “What sort of help can we anticipate from the locals?”

“They have offered intelligence, safehouses and transport,” Leia confirmed. “As much practical help as they can give.”

"Has Artoo been able to slice into the medcentre mainframe?" Sergeant Arisii asked.

"No," Leia confirmed, “but he's still trying. Until then, we will have to rely on the information from Commander Farr on the layout of the medcentre. Skywalker and Klivian were being held in the same room, although that may change now that Vader has arrived. Antilles’ location remains unverified.”

"Your Highness," Comdhail asked, "forgive me... but won’t Vader transfer them straight to the _Executor_?"

Anxiety curdled in Leia's belly and she pushed it down, answering truthfully, "That is a possibility. However," she went on, "we believe that Vader won't risk moving him immediately because Emperor Palpatine wants Commander Skywalker alive."

She paused, making the decision to give the SpecForce soldiers as much information as she could. They were all about to risk their lives to save Luke and the others. It was only right that they should know as much about the situation as she and the other members of the Alliance Command staff, did. "The information you are about to be given is restricted, partitioned!" she told them.

"You all know about the destruction of the Jedi Temple and the almost-complete genocide of the Jedi two decades ago. You will also know that the Jedi were accused of sedition, of attempting to overthrow the Emperor and take control of the Senate."

"Twaddle!" a soldier muttered.

"It is," Leia confirmed. "Alliance Command have long believed that the Jedi were wiped out because they were a threat to Emperor Palpatine and a sect of renegade Jedi called the Sith, who supported him. The Sith were led by Count Dooku of Serenno. Dooku was killed by Anakin Skywalker, Commander Skywalker's father."

To Leia, it felt as if the concentration in the room had become even more focussed. She could see on their faces that every soldier understood the significance of Luke’s lineage and realised that they weren’t just dealing with a political crusade against the Alliance: they were also dealing with a personal vendetta between the Emperor and the Skywalker family.

"Lord Vader betrayed and murdered Anakin Skywalker during the attack on the Jedi Temple," she finished.

There was a moment's silence. "So Vader is coming to finish the job he started twenty years ago?" Arisii concluded, finally.

"It's more than that," Leia confirmed. "Commander Skywalker has inherited his father’s abilities. It is entirely possible that he is the last of the ancient order of the Jedi."

One of the soldiers whistled softly.

"So they will want him alive," another speculated. "They'll want live proof that the Alliance is being run by the Jedi..."

"If Lord Vader removes Commander Skywalker from the medical centre now," Leia went on, "he runs the risk of the Luke dying. The Commander is severely injured. He is showing symptoms of life-threatening medical ailment native to this area of Valjajord.” She paused, then went on, “We have to hope that Vader will not remove Commander Skywalker until his condition is more stable."

Comdhail looked across at Arisii. Then he lifted a datapad, pulling up a map of Malhördhem. "We're going to need transport," he thought aloud.

“What if we don’t bring them out?”

Arisii quirked an eyebrow, looking at the woman who had spoken. She looked back at the Sergeant, “What if…” She trailed off, leaning forward, her gaze sliding away as she chewed on the inside of her lip, deep in thought. The rest of the team stayed silent, letting her think through her argument.

“This medical condition,” she began, finally, “it’s unique to here… The medical equipment, and the experts, are here. If Commander Skywalker is severely injured, and if we’re talking about Vader not moving him until his condition is more stable, then why are _we_ risking his life by trying to take him out of a perfectly good medical facility?”

She sat back, looking from Leia to Arisii to Comdhail, finishing, “The medical specialist is working with the resistance.”

“It’s a good point,” Arisii told Leia and Valdez.

“Then let’s see if it’s viable,” Shawn Valdez agreed, turning and heading for the flight deck.

oo0oo

Vader ignored the stormtroopers who stood stiffly to attention either side of the medical centre room door. He followed Vyre... and drew to a halt just inside, waves of emotion coursing through him.

 _Luke_...

Even this close to his son there was no whisper of his presence through the Force.

He walked forward, towards the bed. Luke's eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even. Cuts littered his face, dark bruising mottling his skin. Some of the synthetic skin had been abraded from the fingers his prosthetic hand, revealing the metal beneath. And the Force remained silent.

"What is his condition?" Vader asked.

Marek Vyre opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it again, looking at Tarja Kaarsar. The medical specialist glanced across at him then took a step towards the imposing figure of Vader.

"He is comfortable," she supplied.

"And his injuries?"

"He has extensive bruising, both external and internal," Tarja began, "a broken rib, three cracked ribs, ruptured spleen. Those injuries are healing. However, he appears to have suffered a head injury and that is giving me cause for concern. I can find no evidence of neurological damage, but he is severely comatose. He has reacted to stimuli, with motor and eye response... but there is no verbal response. He also suffered a tachycardia episode a short time ago," she went on. "I can find no obvious irregularity with his heart, so it may be related to the coma... And he is on dialysis to control a condition called Spore Lung, caused by breathing in tree spores from the forest. The only way to successfully treat the condition is pressure therapy, but I am not prepared to begin that without knowing more about the coma."

Concern had tightened in Vader's spine as she had listed Luke's injuries. The boy, Vader realised, had barely survived the crash. He forced himself not to move closer to Luke. Instinct screamed at him to reach out, to touch his son, to... comfort him...

Keeping his ruinous impulses under tight control, Vader lifted his gaze away from Luke, turning to look at the medical specialist.

"He is of no use to the Empire like this," he informed her.

"There is nothing I can do until I find out more about the coma," Tarja countered. "If complications develop while he’s in the pressure chamber, it will be extremely difficult to administer any medical attention. It would involve an emergency depressurisation of the chamber which would, itself, be potentially life-threatening. We are a small medical facility,” she went on. "We do not carry the equipment needed to do a complex neurological scan.”

Vader looked at her for a long moment. Something she had said was stirring long-forgotten memories. They remained elusively just out of reach. He turned, looking back at Luke as the specialist continued, "The simple scan shows the cerebral cortex and the reticular activating system functioning normally. There is some evidence of minor brain injury: concussion… but I can find no traces of trauma which would cause speech or movement disorders. A complex scan would be able to identify deep trauma, but we don’t have that sort of sophisticated equipment."

Vader considered her words. The situation was familiar to him… No sign of neurological damage and yet Luke was unconscious, unresponsive…

The elusive memories finally pushed up from the depths of Vader's memory: from Anakin Skywalker's life.

A young Twi'lek Jedi... Shiaan... She had completed her trials only weeks before. She had lain in his arms for two days, unconscious and unresponsive.

They had been chasing a Separatist supply ship out of Corellia, had still been in the atmosphere when the Separatist ship had let loose scores of battle droids. The droids had sliced through their ship's hull and disabled the engines, leaving the ship crippled and tumbling back towards the planet’s surface. Shiaan had tried to use the Force to slow the ship, while Anakin flew it, fighting to bring it under control. When it had slammed into the ground, Shiaan had still been immersed in the Force.

A rescue team, led by Obi-Wan, had finally dug them out of the wreckage.

It had taken almost three months for Shiaan to recover. Yoda had explained that the impact had resonated back through the Force with the same power with which the ship had hit the ground. The midichlorians, along with her entire nervous system, had been in slammed into shock. She had been locked into her body, unable to respond, and cut-off from the Force until the midichlorians had begun to recover.

If Luke had been attempting the same thing, to slow the Rebel ship… If he had been immersed in the Force when the ship had hit the forest... then he, too, could be in Force trauma.

He turned to Vyre, ordering, "Wait outside!"

The Colonel looked at him in surprise. "My Lord?"

"Wait," Vader repeated, "outside!"

Bristling with indignation, Vyre opened his mouth to protest. Then he remembered Kendal Ozzel's fate and closed it again. Nodded, curtly, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Vader turned his attention back to Luke, waiting until the door had closed behind the Colonel before moving forward to stand at Luke's side. He reached out, gently grasping the boy's prosthetic fingers with his own...

And there, finally, was the faint tremble in the Force.

Luke's breath hitched in his chest. His eyes slid open... but his gaze was unfocussed, sluggish.

"He is drugged," Vader concluded.

"The tachycardia episode required medication," the medical specialist supplied.

Vader withdrew his hand. Dragging his gaze away from his son, he looked at the medical specialist. "This Rebel," he informed her, "is a Jedi. His comatose condition is specific to the Jedi. I have witnessed it before. His nervous system was stunned, shocked, by the impact of the crash. It is not life threatening, but it will take time to recover."

Tarja nodded her understanding, her mind racing as she finally understood what was wrong with Skywalker. He wasn’t in a coma. He was suffering from some sort of neuro-spinal disconnection. That was why the neural scan hadn't shown anything. His brain wasn't damaged, it was his nervous system that wasn't carrying the messages properly. He was totally cognisant… he just couldn’t get his body to do what it wanted.

She knew of the Jedi. Her parents and grandparents had vilified them, but their vitriol had been aimed at the Jedi's political scheming and sedition. Tarja had been taught nothing of Jedi medical background. She doubted that she would find anything in the medical texts about Jedi physiology, but at least now she knew a little more about what she was dealing with.

"You spoke of pressure therapy?" Vader was asking.

She nodded, explaining, "The only way to kill the tree spore infestation is to place the patient in a hyper-atmospheric chamber. It requires at least twenty-eight hours immersion... I need to do some tests to confirm a neuro-spinal disconnection, then I can begin treatment."

Vader looked back at his son. Luke was not the only prize here. There was another prisoner to be taken into custody, one more politically important to Palpatine: Bren Derlin. Loathed to leave, but knowing that Palpatine would be awaiting confirmation of Derlin’s capture, Vader turned, walking towards the door. "Do whatever you have to, Specialist Karsaar. I will return."

oo0oo

Sheriff Ashtor Svioisaar crawled the last, few inches to Kaysix's console. Kneeling up, she grasped hold of the inoperative droid, using it to haul herself to her feet. The world tilted and her stomach rebelled. She swallowed, steadying herself against the droid, taking a deep breath against the nausea, then another.

As her stomach began to settle, she reached for Kaysix's reboot button. There was a few seconds delay then the droid's eyes lit up.

"Kaysix..." Ash asked, "You with me?"

"Sheriff Svioisaar," the droid began, doing a swift self-diagnostic "I... I am fully functional...” Kaysix paused, turning to look at her, “Unlike you, Sheriff. You require a physician..."

"We have bigger problems, Kaysix. Give me…"

She trailed off, groaning softly as nausea washed over her again and her legs threatened to buckle. Sinking onto the edge of the communications console, she took a deep breath.

"You require a physician, Sheriff," Kaysix pushed.

"I know..." Ash conceded. The interrogation had left her hurting, pain pushing through her ribs and thumping against her jaw in time to her heartbeat. The drugs still coursing through her system were taking their toll, too. She was fighting an all-encompassing lethargy; it was difficult to focus her thoughts; and she had a feeling that she was going to lose the battle with her rebelling stomach very soon.

"Give me a wide-band emergency transmission,” she ordered, finally. “And an all-unit recall. Officers down, assistance required..." She took a breath, "Issue arrest alerts on former Sheriff’s Deputy Zånder Olgenssen and a Rebel Alliance Major Bren Derlin...."

“Stand by,” Kaysix told her before confirming, “All units have been advised and are responding... The medical centre has been alerted… Arrest profiles have been disseminated for Deputy Olgenssen and Major Derlin…”

“Okay,” Ash acknowledged. “Pull the surveillance recordings for the last thirty minutes.”

The droid paused then looked at Ash. “Sheriff, the surveillance recordings are unavailable. The time stamp indicates that recording ceased immediately after Commander Antilles was removed from the cells.”

Ash hid a smile. The little Rebel droid had done its work perfectly. “Okay,” she told Kaysix, trying to concentrate against another swell of nausea. “We better inform the Mayor. Put me through to her office… then get me a bucket… I think I’m going to be sick…”

oo0oo

The comm unit chimed and Agnessa Gunnistsaar, Mayor of Malhördhem, reached for it. She hesitated as she saw the caller display and looked across at her former Fire Chief.

She had been relieved that Ulaf had offered to stay when Hetta Alvessaar had left earlier to coordinate the situation with the Rebel Alliance. Agnessa had no qualms about making hard decision, but she valued the opinions of both the town’s Fire Chief and the Sheriff. In a situation unlike any she had encountered before, and with Sheriff Svioisaar detained by Imperial forces, she was calmed by his presence.

“It’s the jailhouse,” she warned before hitting the button to put the transmission on speaker. “Mayor Gunnistsaar!” she announced, trying to push as much polite antagonism into her voice as possible.

“Mayor, this is Kaysix at the Sheriff Bureau. We have a situation.”

Agnessa’s belly tightened in apprehension. She glanced across at Ulaf but said nothing, allowing the droid to continue, “Deputy Olgenssen has incapacitated Deputies Fjeldssen and Valsaar and released Major Derlin.”

Agnessa’s stomach lurched. She sat up straight, eyes going wide and looked across at Ulaf, who sat forward in his chair. “What?”

“It appears that Deputy Olgenssen is in collusion with his grandfather in aiding the Rebel terrorists…” Kaysix began.

“Mayor?”

Agnessa’s stomach lurched again as she recognised the voice. “Sheriff! Ash, are you alright?” she demanded

“I’m coping,” the Sheriff confirmed. “Barely…”

Agnessa heard her take a deep breath before she went on, “Zånder took out the stormtroopers. And Erika and Markus. They’re unconscious but don’t look injured. There’s medics on the way and I’ve issued an all-unit recall… but…”

She trailed off and Agnessa heard her groan, before there was a noise that sounded suspiciously like the Sheriff throwing up.

“Kaysix!” she demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Sheriff Svioisaar is… indisposed,” the droid answered then continued, “An all-unit recall has been issued. Deputies Arnassen, Åstielssen, and Sondagsaar have confirmed responding.”

“What in all the hells is happened, Kaysix?” Agnessa asked.

“I am unclear of the events, Mayor,” the droid offered. “Deputy Olgenssen ordered my shutdown and the surveillance recordings were suspended.”

Agnessa sighed, loudly, sinking back against the chair, “Colonel Vyre’s going to love that!”

“Vyre’s got troubles coming, Mayor,” Svioisaar commented, her voice hoarse. “A whole heap of troubles. Assault and battery… those are crimes in these parts… and those particular recordings ain’t been wiped… And now he’s going to have to explain why… he locked me up… and left the grandson of a known Rebel sympathiser… free to break Derlin out…”

A slow, cold smile pulled at Agnessa’s lips. She looked across at Ulaf then pushed herself to her feet, ordering, “Stay exactly where you are, Sheriff. I’m on my way.”

Cutting communications she turned back to Ulaf. “Chief, I have valued your recommendations and your advice, and I will miss both… but it’s time for you to go.”

He stood up, “Maybe not, Mayor….”

She fixed him with an uncompromising look. “We agreed…”

“Yes, Mayor, we surely did. But I did my duty removing that Rebel from the flight deck… and handed him into Olgenssen’s custody…”

Agnessa hesitated, seeing where Ulaf was going. ”And with Sheriff Svioisaar unavailable, you came directly to me to explain your innocence… and having just been threatened by Vyre, I told you to remain here…”

“But now it looks like Vyre’s the one in trouble…”

“Then your place is with your Jumpers, Chief,” Agnessa told him. “But be careful… just in case…”

He grinned at her. “You, too, Mayor. You too.”

oo0oo

"Lord Vader!"

Vader stopped, turning to look at the stormtrooper Commander as the soldier walked towards him. "My Lord, we have intercepted local law-enforcement communication. The Sheriff has reported officers down and has issued arrest warrants for Major Derlin and one of the Sheriff Deputies."

Beside him, Colonel Marek Vyre made a soft sound of derision. "Impossible! I removed the Sheriff from duty myself. She is complicit in rescuing the Rebels from their crashed ship!"

Vader turned his head, looking at him. "You have her in custody?" he assumed.

"I do, Lord Vader," Vyre assured him. "I questioned her myself. She is in the cells, guarded by stormtroopers," he supplied, nodding towards the Sheriff's bureau.

The Sith Lord turned back to the Commander: one of his own, trusted men. "What, exactly, did you intercept, Commander?"

The stormtrooper glanced at Vyre, then looked back at Vader. "It was an emergency unit recall, reporting officers down at the Sheriff's bureau, assistance required and issuing arrest alerts on Sheriff's Deputy Zånder Olgenssen and Rebel Alliance Major Bren Derlin."

The Commander's surety disturbed Vyre slightly, but Derlin and Svioisaar were being guarded by stormtroopers. "Was it the Sheriff, herself?" he asked.

"No, Colonel," the trooper admitted. "It was the communications droid."

Reassured that this was simply a Rebel attempt at disinformation, Vyre said nothing, but a tight smile pulled at his lips.

Vader turned, striding towards the entrance of the jailhouse, leaving Vyre and the Commander to catch up. "Let us hope you are correct, Colonel," Vader warned. "The Emperor will not be pleased if Derlin evades him. We have the Rebels on the run and Major Derlin's testimony will push them one step closer to the precipice."

The doors opened and Vader swept inside. Then he stopped, taking in the scene.

Vyre drew to a halt at Vader's side. The door to the cells was open. In the corridor beyond he could see a man in a Deputy's uniform tending to another Deputy on the floor. And behind that, glimpses of white armour on the floor. Anxiety twisting in his belly, he dragged his gaze away to look at Sheriff Ashtor Svioissaar, sitting in a chair beside the communications droid.

Wrists still in binders, the Sheriff rose unsteady to her feet. "Lord Vader, she greeted, "your arrival has been much anticipated."

Vader looked at her. Keeping his gaze fixed on her, taking in the bruising on the woman's face, the blood crusted against her lip, he asked Vyre, "Would this be the Sheriff you removed from duty and secured in her own cells, Colonel?"

"My Lord," Vyre began, "I assure you..."

"He removed her from duty!" Sigurd Arnassen interrupted, talking over the Colonel as he rose to his feet from where he had been kneeling beside Markus Fjeldssen. "He wouldn't listen!"

"Someone in this town..."

"The Sheriff told him she wasn't involved…”

"...helped the Rebels!"

“…but he wasn't for having it!"

"My Lord!" Vyre tried again, aware that everything might be falling apart around him. His gut instinct had never let him down before. He had been convinced that Svioisaar was up to her neck in the Rebel cause, that she had helped hide the Rebels. Her continued protestation of innocence under interrogation had made him wonder... but...

"Check the cells, Commander Corl!" Vader ordered.

Ash swayed slightly then sank back down onto the chair as the stormtrooper moved towards the cells.

"Perhaps you should apprise me of the situation, Sheriff?" Vader ordered, ignoring the Imperial Colonel at his side.

"An arrest warrant was issued for a forester, Per Alvessen, on charges of collusion with the Rebels. Per’s grandson was one of my Deputies... He came back for Derlin."

Vader took a step towards her. "Why was the grandson not arrested?"

The Sheriff looked back at him, unafraid, sure in her authority. "That's a question for Colonel Vyre. I was removed from duty."

"My Lord," the Commander reported, stepping back into the office, "there are no prisoners in the cells."

Anger surged, but Vader reined it in. The Emperor was not going to be pleased at this turn of events, but Vyre had still been in control of the situation when Derlin had escaped. If the Rebel Major was not recovered, Vyre could explain himself to the Emperor, personally. If Derlin was recovered, the lapse in Vyre’s judgement was still notable. Either way, with Luke still blind to the Force, Palpatine could be informed that the boy had died in custody and the blame could be laid firmly on Vyre’s head.

Smiling behind the obsidian mask, attention still fixed on the Sheriff, Vader pushed, "Your Deputy did not release you when he took Derlin?"

She drew herself unsteadily to her feet. Anger and fear and pride washed off of her, but anger was the strongest emotion. "He opened the cell..." she told Vader. “But I'm the Law here!”

"Yet you did nothing to prevent your Deputy leaving with Derlin," Vader countered.

Svioisaar held up manacled wrists. "I was otherwise engaged."

Vader moved his hand and the manacles unlocked, falling to the floor. "Your position is reinstated, Sheriff."

Turning, looking at Vyre, he ordered, "Help the Sheriff find Derlin and bring him to me, Colonel! You have twenty-six hours!"

oo0oo

Tarja Karsaar supervised the medical droids as they carefully transferred Skywalker from the gravsled to the gurney of the pressure chamber. She had sedated him, not wanting to risk another anxiety attack when he woke to unfamiliar surroundings.

The droids rolled away and she moved in, double-checking the lines connected to the canula unit on Skywalker’s arm. Then she pushed the gurney into the pressure chamber and stepped to the side, hitting the locking mechanism. The door slid across, sealing closed.

At the side of the chamber, the droid selected the pressurisation cycle. Tarja moved around to look through the observation window, watching as the pressure increased to the required three atmospheres. Skywalker's vital signs remained steady.

"Specialist Karsaar, you have in incoming com-call,” a voice announced.

Tarja turned. "Stream it to my comlink," she instructing, digging in her pocket for the little device as she headed out into the corridor. Pulling it out, she greeted, "Specialist Tarja Karsaar."

"Tarja," Lady Valda's voice began, "You've been so busy I thought I would call to check that you remembered your appointment..."

"Appointment?" Tarja frowned.

Valda laughed, softly, "Now, I just knew you would have forgotten. Why, I only just said to Mønaeg, ‘ _That poor child has been working so hard I lay bets she's forgotten_ ’..."

Mønaeg's name struck home and Tarja cursed silently at her own stupidity, realising, finally, what Valda meant. Per, Hetta and the others needed to speak with her: either about the information she had sent them earlier, or about the rescue team the Rebel Alliance had sent. "Would I be running late for that appointment?" she asked.

"Why, yes, honey," Valda told her, "you surely would..."

"Can you give me ten minutes?" Tarja asked.

"We'll be waiting," Valda assured her.

Tarja headed back to Hobbie and Wedge. She ignored the stormtroopers guarding the door, walking past them. The Rebel Alliance would need up-to-date medical information on all three of the Rebels. She picked up a mediscanner and moved across to Antilles' bed.

Hazel eyes looked up at her. She smiled at him, "Hello."

He swallowed, trying to speak. Putting the scanner down, she reached for a carton of water. She put the straw against his lips, letting him drink a few mouthfuls.

He swallowed, again, then asked, "Derlin?"

Tarja looked at him. After everything he had been through, after the torture he had suffered, his first thought still was his commanding officer. "I don't know," she admitted, "but I'll try to find out."

She glanced towards the door, towards the stormtroopers, then looked back at Antilles, lowering her voice. "Your people are here for you. I don't know any more than that, now… but I will later. Until then, you need to rest and move as little as possible. We've saved your arm but I couldn't risk leaving you in the bacta any longer and your bone density was only ninety-five percent. Do you understand?"

He nodded, grinning at her, tiredly. "So... no punching Colonel Blaster-Burn in the face?"

She looked at him, aghast. Then she sighed, rolling her eyes, shaking her head at his dark humour. "No! Absolutely not!" Putting the carton of water down where Antilles could reach it, she lifted the mediscanner again, running it across him.

He watched her for a moment before asking, "How's Luke?"

"Comfortable and responding to treatment," she told him. "Hobbie's holding his own, too. I'll have you moved across the room beside him."

She read through the data on the mediscanner. The dialysis was working. His renal function had increased, as had his blood-oxygen level. She frowned at one of the other readings, telling him, "I'll increase your pain meds..."

"No," he countered. "I'm okay... I... It... It'll keep me sharp..."

She regarded him for a moment then sighed. "All right... Do your lungs feel tight at all? Take a deep breath for me and let it out slowly."

He did as she asked. There was no sign of any irritation in the membrane, and he didn’t cough. She smiled at him. "You're doing just fine. Lie still... and rest."

Turning, she moved across the room to Hobbie, running the mediscanner across him. He was asleep, the heart monitor showing a strong, steady beat. His fluid levels were good and his vital signs were stable... but she still wasn't happy with the damaged bone in his arm. The bacta-soaked argentum dressings had been changed again, but it wasn't going to be enough. Another section of his arm would have to be amputated.

She slipped the mediscanner into her pocket, turning to look at Antilles. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady.

Deep in thought, she walked to the door and out, past the stormtroopers, heading for her office. Putting the mediscanner and comlink in her bag, she peeled off her medical coat, hanging it over the back of her chair. Lifting her bag, she headed for the reception are, telling the two-one-dee droid there, "I'm going on my break. I'll be back in thirty minutes. Let me know immediately if there's any change in the Rebels' conditions."

"Of course, Specialist Karsaar," the droid assured her.

Nodding to the droid, Tarja turned, heading out of the medical centre towards Lady Valda's.


	14. Mission abort +23hrs

_Mission abort +23hrs_

_12:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

“OH, MY! YOUR HIGHNESS! COMMANDER FARR!” Threepio warned, appearing in the open flight deck door. “Lord Vader is here!”

There was a flurry of movement as most of the strike team moved towards the concealment compartments in the floor. Taking a deep breath, Leia exchanged a long, level look with Toryn Farr.

They had made it this far citing Vader’s personal sanction to be here. If he rescinded that authority, they wouldn’t press the point. Instead, they would shrug their shoulders, step back and review their fall-back contingencies. If the fates, or the Force, were with them, Vader might not even question their use of his licence.

She reached for the biohelmet, slipping it over her head and securing it in place before following Farr towards the ramp. She couldn’t quite calm the fear that fluttered in her belly at the thought of facing Vader. His presence had haunted her nightmares since Alderaan. She would jolt awake, grief crushing her chest, the deep tenor of his voice echoing in her mind.

This time, however, the situation was different. This time she wasn’t trapped within his influence. This time, she wasn’t facing him as a Rebel. Drawing her shoulders back, settling easily into her bounty hunter persona, she followed Toryn Farr.

Farr walked down the ramp, stepping onto the duracrete but staying underneath the shadow of the ship. Vader strode across the landing area, flanked by stormtroopers. The wind whipped out his cloak, swirling it up and around him.

The Dark Lord of the Sith drew to a halt. Toryn bowed to him then straightened, looking at him. “Lord Vader,” she acknowledged.

“I am told,” Vader rumbled, “that you are here under my personal authority.”

Toryn nodded, “We are, Lord Vader.”

There was a short pause and Toryn wondered if they might, actually, get away with the bluff. Then Vader announced, “That authorisation was given to a select group of bounty hunters, of which you are not one...”

Toryn opened her mouth to speak: then closed it again as the squad of stormtroopers fanned out, blaster rifles coming to bear in an effective show of intimidation. Toryn held her ground, pushing down the surge of trepidation. Behind her, Leia stayed completely still.

“Perhaps,” Vader offered, “you would like to rethink your answer.”

Toryn looked at him for a long moment.

“Yoh,” Leia commented softly in Ubese. “Doe-doi.”

Gaze still locked on the obsidian mask, Toryn turned her head towards Leia, nodding. Then she grinned at Vader, hooking her thumbs into her belt, shrugging as she supplied, “The authorisation was issued to a Corellian bounty hunter called Dengar. We ran into him… or, more precisely, he cut in front of us. Cost us a bounty on a Wookiee named Chewbacca. Cost Dengar the bounty, too. My first mate took him down. In return for us not killing him, he told us about your authorisation.” She paused, shrugging again, “The media stream of that Rebel ship went Empire-wide. We figured the authorisation would slide us in ahead of the competition.”

“And your intentions were?” Vader asked.

“Trust our luck,” Toryn supplied. “See what was left over once you had who you wanted. Corellian Corp and Sienar Systems are paying good money for the Rebel pilots who bombed their yards. The Diazez Cartel pay even better money for good-looking slaves. And the Hutts are determined to take retribution on Chewbacca and his pilot for jumping in with the Rebellion and leaving them swinging in the breeze and out of pocket… which was why we were tracking the Wookiee when Dengar cut in. One of the Rebels, here, might know where the Wookiee, and Solo, are...”

Vader considered her explanation for a long moment. A small tremor of anxiety washed off both her and the other bounty hunter, but the over-riding emotions were frustration and annoyance. Their story was entirely plausible. “And the transmission you sent down just before you landed?”

Her emotions shifted again and she grinned at him. “That was purely pleasure… There’s a bordella in town. My first mate’s there right now. I’d have been with him if you hadn’t told me to wait.”

Vader considered all of that, and the possibility that the bounty hunters might be of use to him. He held up his hand and the stormtroopers lowered their weapons. Taking a step forward, Vader told the hunters, “Your search for Solo will be fruitless. The Hutts already have him.”

Leia’s heart skipped a beat and she only just managed to bite down on a gasp of shocked excitement. Fett had taken Han to the Hutts. He was on Tatooine… They had suspected as much, but they hadn’t been able to get any firm confirmation of it.

“However,” Vader was continuing, “arrest warrants have just been issued for Major Bren Derlin and another man: Olgenssen. They are both here, somewhere. Find them, bring them to me, and you may have the Rebels Antilles and Klivian. Bring me useful information on the Vaaljajord Route, and I might be persuaded to give you the authority you tried to appropriate from Dengar.”

Toryn blinked in surprise, then swallowed. This was not what she had expected. It wasn’t what any of them had anticipated. She rolled with the situation, though, bowing her head in acknowledgement, assuring him, “It is an honour to serve you, Lord Vader.”

He turned on his heel, striding away across the landing area, the stormtroopers falling in behind him. She watched them until Vader disappeared, and then she turned, looking at Leia.

Leia took a long deep breath, looking back at her.

“You okay?” Toryn asked.

Leia nodded, grinning beneath the biohelmet. “I’m fine,” she assured her.

She took another deep breath, letting it out slowly, tucking away the elation and hope that confirmation of Han’s whereabouts had pushed through her. She couldn’t afford to think about him, not now. They had a job to do. They had people to rescue from Vader’s clutches. Once Luke and the others were safe, only then could she allow herself to think about Han Solo…

 _Scoundrel_ …

“We should advise Major Torshan,” Toryn suggested, “about Tatooine…”

Leia nodded. "Do it," she ordered. "And let him know we've been hired by Vader..." She grinned, again, beneath the biohelmet. "That should make his day."

oo0oo

"So," Shawn Valdez concluded, "we need to know if there's anywhere in the medical centre where Skywalker, Antilles and Klivian could be hidden."

Tarja leaned forward, putting the half-full beaker of kaffin on the low table in front of her. Then she sat back, looking at Valdez. She took a deep breath. "Before we go any further, there's something I have to say."

She paused for a moment, suddenly not knowing where to start, not knowing how to tell them, but unable to stay silent in the pretence of innocence any longer. These people trusted her to help them, and she would help them... but they deserved to know the truth.

She had handed the Rebel personnel over. She had done it in the belief that justice was being served. She had thought she was prepared to live with their deaths on her conscience. She had not been prepared for the stark reality of Hobbie and Wedge's torture, however. She had not anticipated Sheriff Svioisaar being dragged into the situation.

She looked around the room, at the people gathered there, and then began "I don't agree with your politics. I won't ever agree with your politics. I believe that your Rebel Alliance will tear this galaxy apart. I believe that only the Empire can assure continued peace and stability. But in the past few hours I've seen that the Emperor's dream of a safe and secure society is being undermined by brutality and cruelty... and I don't believe that peace is worth the price if it's bought by fear, intimidation and torture."

She broke off, taking another deep breath. Then she told them, "I was the one who told Colonel Vyre that the Rebels were in the medical centre..."

She hesitated at the soft sounds of disbelief, but only for a moment, before continuing, "I'm an ISB agent. I was sent here to investigate the Vaaljajord Route..." She looked directly at Shawn Valdez. "I am responsible for Wedge and Hobbie being tortured. I am responsible for Raimik and Basun's deaths."

In the stunned silence that followed, she heard Lady Valda swear softly but succinctly. She kept her gaze fixed on Valdez, knowing that all she would see on everyone else’s faces was anger and betrayal.

Valdez looked back at her, considering everything she had just told him. He found himself balancing it out with the fact that she had arrived with in-depth medical information about Skywalker, Antilles and Klivian’s conditions. And if she had intended to hand him and the others over to Vader, the room would already have been filled with stormtroopers... unless she was playing a more devious game. There was something in her eyes, though, that reassured him. He had seen that haunted look before. And there was no fervour in her tone, no spark of hatred and zeal. Instead, there was sadness.

"What changed your mind?" he asked, finally, "You came here with the intention of helping us. Why would you do that, as an ISB officer?"

"I was a medical student before I was an Imperial officer," she supplied. "But I forgot my calling for a time… I do believe in the Empire, I do believe that Mon Mothma's ill-conceived political agenda is going to bring civil war to the galaxy... but I believe more strongly in my oath to save lives. I handed Hobbie Klivian over to, what I believed, was justice... and he was so badly brutalised that his heart failed and I almost couldn’t save him. I handed Wedge Antilles over to 'Justice' and then had to peel material from burns on his shoulder and arm that went so deep they degraded the bone density. I worked beside a soldier to save a young man’s life and now that soldier is lying dead in the town square… because of me.”

She shook her head. “The Emperor's promise of a safe and secure society is being undermined by sadistic bullies. As a medical specialist, I have a duty to do everything in my power to prevent people like Vyre abusing their position. The Tarkin Doctrine is flawed. It had nothing to do with my decision to serve the Empire. It failed to strengthen my resolve. And if the fall-out caused good people like Per and Hetta to standing against the Empire, how many others has it pushed towards the Rebel Alliance? For every person in the town square who witnessed your soldiers’ executions and agreed that justice was being handed out to terrorists, how many others only saw brutality and suffering?”

She shook her head, again. “The means does not always justify the ends. A society cannot be safe or secure if it’s bought in pain and terror. I cannot, and I will not, enable a culture that is built on torture and fear.”

Looking at Per and Hetta, she told them, “I believed I was doing the right thing. I was wrong. I can’t change what I’ve done… but I can make it right. I can make a difference, and do it in the name of Raimik and Basun. I can make their deaths count for something.”

Per looked at her for a long moment, reeling from her admissions... but, he realised, she could have said nothing about her involvement in the Rebels’ arrest. She could have kept quiet and no-one here would have been any the wiser. Instead she had admitted everything: admitted that she might have been wrong, and that she had allowed death.

They all had sins to pay for. Before Alderaan, he had paid no heed to the Empire, figuring that politics was something far away from Malhördhem. Without Mønaeg, he would still be thinking that… and all of the Rebels would have been dead or in Imperial custody right now.

“You’re talking about being a double agent,” Shawn Valdez was warning Tarja, softly. “If they find out…”

“They’ll torture me?” she interrupted, looking back at him. “They’ve already done that. And Wedge and Hobbie suffered worse… I have no right to expect leniency.”

Shawn Valdez believed everything she had just told them. His gut was telling him to trust her: that she genuinely wished to help them. His gut had never failed him before… but there were other details he needed to know before he either decided to work with her, or had the Malhördhem resistance lock her up somewhere for the foreseeable future: if only because Major Palo Torshan would strip him back to Corporal if his answer to, “ _Why did you believe an ISB agent might have turned?_ ” was a simple, “ _Instinct_.”

“How did they recruit you?” he asked.

Tarja took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow sigh, but she held his gaze. “There had been demonstrations most of the afternoon in the campus quorum… about Alderaan. My fiancé, Jakov, was supposed to pick me up at the edge of campus. He was never late… but I thought nothing of it, figuring the demonstration had delayed him. The comms networks had been supressed, my calls wouldn’t connect, so I waited... Everything blew up so fast. Suddenly there were stormtroopers everywhere, and I was swept right along.”

She paused, taking another breath before continuing, “I was arrested, branded a “seditionist” and thrown into a cell with a more-than-eager Imperial officer who refused to believe me.”

Valdez saw the haunted look sweep across her face again as she went on, “I don’t remember much… but I woke in the garrison medical centre. Major Azhlyn was sitting by the bed. We’d met a few times at fundraisers my Granmaar was involved with, so he knew me, knew my family. He’d seen my name, pulled me out. He was kind to me, a gentleman, made sure I was treated well... Then he came to me, just before graduation, telling me about the Vaaljajord Route, explaining how I could help. You see, I react to bacta, so they couldn’t use it. The injuries on my back had healed into scarring. That alone, he said, would go a long ways to making the Rebels trust me.”

“Those scars,” Per told her, “were why I didn’t bring you into the Route. Reckoned you’d already endured enough…”

Tarja looked at him then laughed, softly, at the irony of it all. Shaking her head, she went on, “I was honoured to be asked to serve the Emperor, to serve the Empire. I reported back everything I saw: not that there was much. The folks that ended up in the Sheriff’s cells fell into two groups, or so I thought. One was agents, trying to infiltrate. The other was kids. Both of them felt the Sheriff’s boot on their backside when she sent them packing. But,” she surmised, looking at Per and Hetta, “there was a third group that I didn’t see, wasn’t there?”

Per nodded, “There was.”

“Then I’ll do everything I can to help you protect the others who come through… And to protect you,” she told him. “Vyre was too full of his own self-importance to take notice when I told him the Rebels had forced you to help them, that they’d threatened Hetta. I told him I could vouch for you, that you were my grandsa’s oldest friend. He wouldn’t listen… but Major Azhlyn should.”

“It ain’t worth your trouble,” Per told her with a sad smile, his voice heavy. “The Imperials know that Zånder’s working with me.”

“Seems to me,” Tarja contradicted, gently, “that it makes more sense for Zånder to be calling the shots. Seems to me,” she went on, “that an educated boy, with inside knowledge of the justice system, is more likely to be the mastermind behind the Vaaljajord Route than an old man who knows nothing beyond the nurturing and harvesting ways of the forest. Why, everybody knows you ain’t left Malhördhem since you married Miss Hetta.”

She paused then pointed out, “And you never went to the crash site, so how did the Rebels know where your home was? How did the Rebels know to come to you? Must have been Zånder that told them… And I’ll testify that, when I came to your place, Major Derlin was holding Miss Hetta at blaster point and she was frightened half out of her wits…”

“Listen to her,” Valda urged Per. “Vyre’s already in a whole mess of trouble over the Sheriff… This would be another nail in his mismanagement coffin.”

Hetta looked at him, resting her hand on his arm, “There are good folks who would gladly hide us… but I’d rather stay in our own home, with our own things around us…”

Per sighed, resting his hand over hers, knowing that she would never leave his side, no matter how much he pleaded with her. And they were both too old to be running and hiding in the forest. It had given them their livelihood, but when the rains came in earnest he’d rather be asleep in his own bed than bivouacked in the damp branches of a tree. Looking back at Tarja, he nodded. “I’d be oblidged.”

“Then I’ll contact Major Azhlyn,” Tarja confirmed before looking back at Valdez. “In answer to your questions,” she told him, “first: there are places that might conceal your pilots. And we have time to set them up. Skywalker’s only just begun pressure therapy. I won’t risk removing him for at least twenty-four hours. Second: it ain’t within my power to give you access to the medical centre mainframe, but I will see to it that your droid is synched with the protocol droid on reception. Ceetoo will be able to access the information you need and I’ll communicate with you, from now on, through Ceetoo.”

oo0oo

Colonel Marek Vyre stepped out of the landspeeder. Four stormtroopers were waiting for him and they fell in behind him, following him as he strode towards the entrance of the medical centre.

A tight ball of anger burned cold in Vyre’s belly. He had been played. He had been made to look a fool. More importantly, the Lord Darth Vader had also been played, and had fallen neatly into the web of lines spun around the presence of the Rebels in Malhördhem.

Sheriff Ashtor Svioisaar was a Rebel sympathiser and she was up to her neck in the Vaaljajord Route. Her belligerent denial had made him pause. For a brief moment he had doubted himself, doubted his instinct... but he had seen it, there, in the smug look that had settled on her face, in the small shrug of her shoulders when the surveillance diodes scattered throughout the town had failed to provide any information on where the Sheriff's Deputy had taken Derlin. She had feigned annoyance, but she hadn't been able to keep the glee from her eyes. He had known, then, that his instinct was right.

And he could do nothing about it. Going back to Vader would solve nothing. Svioisaar had undermined his authority. In Vader's eyes, he was incompetent. His mistake, he acknowledged, had not been in Svioisaar's arrest: it had been in not throwing her Deputies into the cells with her.

Vyre had no misconceptions about the position he found himself in. He would be held accountable for Derlin's escape. With no surveillance information, with no leads to follow, he had little chance of locating the Rebel Major in the time left to him. His only chance of surviving this debacle was in proving to Vader that Svioisaar was, indeed, complicit. And, from Svioisaar, they would get all the information they needed to hunt down the other Rebel sympathisers involved in the Vaaljajord Route.

Svioisaar wouldn't be easy to crack: she had proven that. Once he had her back in his influence, however, once he had dragged her back to the garrison at Värmhus, the situation would be different. With all of those facilities at his disposal, she would end up begging to give him all the information he needed.

Now, however, he needed proof of her complicity.

The doors opened to admit him and he strode through them, walking past the droids in the reception area towards the treatment rooms and medical facilities beyond. He moved down the corridor, towards the room where he had last seen Skywalker and Klivian. The stormtroopers he had detailed to guard the room were still there. They snapped to attention when they saw him, stepping aside to let him walk past them.

Vyre stopped in the middle of the room, the troopers coming to a halt behind him. Skywalker was nowhere to be seen, but he wasn't the one Vyre had come for.

Vyre looked across at the blond Rebel, lying bare-chested on the diagnostic bed, one shoulder and arm swathed in white dressings. He was asleep, or unconscious, a heart monitor beeping softly at his side. Unconscious, he was of no use to Vyre.

Turning, the Colonel focussed his attention on the dark-haired, Rebel pilot in the bed to his right. The Rebel's eyes were open. Fear flashed across his face. Vyre gave him a cold smile. "Your faith in your Major Derlin has been sorely misplaced," he told Antilles. "Far from ensuring your safety, he has abandoned you. And now you will suffer in his place!"

Turning, looking at the stormtroopers, Vyre stabbed his head in Antilles’ direction.

The stormtroopers moved.

Antilles fought them as they grasped hold of him and dragged him off the bed. He fought them as they forced him down onto the floor. He fought them as they tried to drag his hands behind his back.

One of the troopers looked to Vyre, who nodded. The trooper turned, bringing the butt of his blaster rifle down between Antilles’ shoulder blades in three, short, brutal stabs before kicking the Rebel in the ribs.

Antilles went limp. One trooper hauled his hands into position as another snapped binders around his wrists. Then they stood up, taking hold of Antilles’ upper arms and dragging him to his feet. Vyre moved towards them, grasping hold of Antilles’ jaw, forcing his head up. The Rebel pilot opened his eyes, looking at him.

“Your sedition against the Empire is at an end, Commander!” Vyre told him. “You have information I want, and once I have extracted it, I will personally ensure that you are confined to Dendraali for re-education… before being assigned to me. You will be the downfall of every Rebel sympathiser in Malhördhem. You will be the weapon I use to destroy the Vaaljajord Route and take as much of the Rebel Alliance with it as I can.”

Terror threatened to swamp Wedge. He looked at the Colonel in horror, knowing that it was no idle threat. Zev Senesca had been mindwiped. It was why they had tried to infiltrate the Dendraali base in the first place. He dragged in a deep breath, pushing down the fear and disgust. If he gave in to the terror, he would lose the only control he had over the situation, which was to keep his mouth shut. He had to think coherently. He had to keep one step ahead of Vyre, or he would betray everyone. And he was damned if he was going to give Vyre that satisfaction.

A strange calm settled through him. Grotesquely, he found a smile pulling at his lips. He ignored the pain in his ribs and his shoulders as he drew himself up straight. Voice defiant, he told Vyre, “Antilles, Wedge: Commander, Rebel Alliance Forces. Serial number…”

Vyre stopped him with a backhanded blow across the face.

“Take him to one of the troop carriers at the anchorage!” the Colonel ordered. “That should give us the freedom and the space to have a cosy, little chat!”

oo0oo

Standing on top of a pile of crates, Sheriff's Deputy Zånder Olgenssen peered through the shuttered openings high in the warehouse wall. The anchorage landing areas stretched out in front of him. The closest bay was empty. Beyond it, was a ship he didn't recognise, but had to be the Rebel ship. There was another empty bay beyond that, then three Imperial troop carriers.

It was raining, again, thunder rumbling down from the mountains. He and Derlin had made it into the warehouse without getting wet, which was something, at least. Derlin had sunk onto the floor against a crate and was asleep almost immediately. Not that Zånder had been surprised. Vyre hadn't abused the Major, but the man had been surviving on adrenalin and stims since the ship crashed, and would have had precious little sleep before that.

Pulling his comlink from his pocket, he keyed the transponder button, then shut it off. The transponder was routinely used to help pinpoint an officer's location. Back at the Sheriff's bureau, Kaysix would have heard it and plotted it, but the brief burst had been short enough to be passed off as spurious if the Imperials were still breathing down the Sheriff's neck.

Zånder grinned as his comlink chirped, almost immediately. "How do," he answered.

"If you're fixing on romancing Beransa Olvensaar out from under my nose, you are in for a fight, buddy!" Sigurd Arnassen's voice announced.

"And why would I do that," Zånder asked, "when I have myself a fine-looking fireball that I'll shortly be escorting out of Lady Valda's?"

"I think you must have cracked your head," Sig replied, humour in his voice. "That gorgeous woman is way out of your league."

"Nuh-uh," Zånder countered. "She came to me..."

"Well... she's under a lot of stress..." Sig began before changing subject. "You settled in with your friend?"

"Yes, Sir," Zånder confirmed, looking down at Derlin. "He's resting. You get our new address?"

"We did," Sig verified, "and sharing it with your friends."

"I'll put the kaffin on to brew," Zånder told him, before asking, "How's the Sheriff?"

"Struggling but determined," the Deputy confirmed. "Lord Vader put her back in charge. Colonel Vyre ain't too pleased."

"Any sign of Derlin?" Zånder asked

"Nope," Sig confirmed. "All the surveillance was wiped so we've lost him... and Olgenssen," the Deputy went on, confirming that Zånder and Derlin were safe: for a while at least. Artoo had done a perfect job, and if the Sheriff's bureau didn't have any surveillance to follow, neither did the Imperials.

A smile pulled across Zånder's lips. Movement from the Rebel ship caught his attention and he peered through the grill again, watching as a figure in a bio-helmet walked down the ramp and turned to move towards him.

"Hey, Boss, I gotta go. Think I got friends at the door," he told Sig.

Turning, looking at Sheriff Svioisaar, Sig gave her a single nod of confirmation, letting her know that the Rebels were trying to make contact with Zånder and Derlin. "Keep your ear to the ground!" he told Zånder, covering their conversation in case the Imperials were listening, passing it off as a lawman talking to an informant. "You get any news of Olgenssen or Derlin, you come to me."

Sinking onto a seat, rubbing her hands across her face, Ash Svioisaar sighed. She felt like hell, she still wasn't thinking clearly and despite the painkillers her jaw ached, but at least she didn't have to worry about Derlin or Zånder anymore. It was up to the Rebels to help them now.

"You need to rest, Sheriff!"

Ash lifted her head, looking at the Mayor. "I can't," she told Agnessa quietly. "Not yet..."

"Sheriff!" Erika warned, voice tight, "You need to see this!"

Sighing again, pushing herself to her feet, Ash moved towards the Deputy, Agnessa following her.

"Vyre's got Antilles," Erika told her, pulling up surveillance data from outside the medical centre and putting it up on the holovid screen.

Heart lurching, swearing vehemently, Ash watched as Vyre strode along behind two stormtroopers who manhandled the dark-haired Rebel towards a waiting landspeeder. Antilles was bare-chested, bare-footed, wearing only loose-fitting medical pants.

"He's going to torture that boy, again," Agnessa said softly from behind her.

"Not if I can help it," Ash told her. She peered at the screen. "Can we pull in tighter?" she asked.

The image zoomed in, and Ash could see more clearly what had caught her attention. "What's that attached to Antilles' arm? Find out if it's medical equipment or something Vyre's using!"

"I'm on it, Sheriff," Erika confirmed.

"Track that bastard!" Ash ordered, softly, "See where he takes Antilles. And don't lose him!"

"He could be bringing him here," Sigurd suggested.

"That," Ash commented, voice dangerously quiet, "would be a really, really bad decision on his part! And we'd have to find somewhere to hide his body. Kaysix," she went on, turning towards the droid, "is Artoo getting this?"

"Yes, Sheriff," Kaysix confirmed.

"Find out what they plan to do. Ain't gonna do any good if we're stepping on each other..." She turned back, watching as Antilles was shoved into the back of the landspeeder. "Damn you, Vyre!"

oo0oo

Zånder climbed down off of the crates as the figure in the biohelmet continued to walk towards the warehouse. Glancing across at Derlin, he moved towards the smaller of the two entrance hatches, unlocking it. After a few moments, it slid open.

Leia stepped out of the rain into the semi-darkness of the warehouse. As the door closed behind her, she reached up, unlocking the biohelmet and lifting it off. Recognising the young man who stepped towards her, she smiled. "Deputy Olgenssen."

"Your Highness," he greeted, smiling back at her.

"How is Major Derlin?" she asked, setting the biohelmet down and shrugging off the pack from her back.

"Sleeping," Zånder supplied, turning towards where Derlin lay slumped against a crate. "Thought it best to leave him that way. He's been surviving on stims since we pulled him out of the forest. Vyre didn't touch him at the jailhouse," he went on, "but he was hurt in the crash. And he's been coughing, so this might be the last time he gets a decent sleep for while..."

"I have something to remedy that," Leia assured the Deputy. "We brought dialysis units. I have painkillers, too. And food... And," she went on, opening the pack, "hot kaffin..."

Zånder blinked at her, his mouth watering at the thought of kaffin. "Ma'am," he drawled, "if you hadn't been so highborn, I might just have right-up asked you to marry me..."

Leia blushed, laughing lightly, shaking her head. "I'm quite sure trooper Dune might have something to say about that." She looked at him, quirking an eyebrow, "Or had you forgotten your arrangement?"

He grinned. "No, Ma'am," he assured her. "Black with a dash of Daemor syrup."

Throwing him another smile, Leia drew a sealed beaker of kaffin from the pack, holding it out to him. He took it, his fingers brushing against her gloves, and the look he gave her made her blush again.

"I think I should warn Cara Dune about you," she accused, good naturedly. "I think you’re a scoundrel, Deputy..."

 _There aren't enough scoundrels in your life_...

A rush of elation washed through her again as she heard Han's voice in her head. He was on Tatooine. The Hutts had him. They knew where he was...

The Deputy was grinning at her, peeling open the beaker. "I come by it honestly, Ma'am. My Gransa was a scoundrel... until he met my Granmaar."

"A perfect example of a good man being made by a good woman," Leia quipped, fixing him with a look before turning her attention to Bren Derlin. She moved to his side, sinking to her knees and pulling a medscanner from the pack. Running it over him, she checked the readouts. He was in good shape, considering.

Putting the scanner back in the pack, pulling out a vibroblade, she carefully sliced up the sleeves of the coat he wore. Then, gently, she began to apply bacta dressings to his wrists, where the binders had cut into the skin. He made a soft sound of discomfort, his eyes fluttering open.

"Easy, Major," she ordered. "Let me finish this."

He grunted, doing as he was told. "Hobbie?" he asked. "Wedge?"

"Recovering in the medical centre," she told him. "As is Luke. We’re working with the local resistance to get them out. And we’re working on getting you and Deputy Olgenssen out to the ship safely. I can't stay long. I'm supposed to be searching the anchorage for you and the Deputy. Vader believes we really are bounty hunters. He's engaged us to find you."

Derlin looked at her for a long moment, then started chuckling, which set him off coughing.

"I've brought a dialysis unit," she told him, setting down the salve. "Deputy? Can you help me?"

As Derlin's coughing subsided, Leia and Zånder attached the medical equipment to his arm, checking it over before switching it on.

"Did you get the data from Artoo?" Derlin asked. "About the facility?"

"Cara gave us the data crystal," she confirmed. “We have people looking at it now…”

"There were hundreds of tanks, Your Highness," he told her. "Most of them occupied. There have to be Hoth survivors there. And pilots from the Seinar and Corellian shipyard attacks... but I don't know how much detail Artoo got. The data transfer had only just started when all hells broke loose. We barely made it out. The ship took so much damage. The hyperdrive failed. Luke and Wedge... if it had been any other pilots," he finished, "we'd all have died."

Leia nodded, acutely aware of how close to disaster the whole mission had been. “Once we’ve made it safely back to Alliance lines,” she assured him, “we’ll start working on a plan for…”

She trailed off, listening to Toryn Farr’s voice in her earpiece. “Copied,” she confirmed before telling Derlin and the Deputy, “I need to go.” She began pulling packages and cartons from the pack. “Food… clothing... medical supplies… and,” she went on, holding out two ear-bud com units, “these, to keep you in direct contact with us. Don’t communicate with Lady Valda’s or the jailhouse,” she instructed the Deputy. “Communicate only with us and through these.”

Zånder nodded, taking the tiny unit, settling it in his ear, “Copied.”

Derlin took the other one and Leia fastened the pack, slipping it over her shoulders, settling it against her back. Pushing herself to her feet, she looked down at the two men, telling them, "Colonel Vyre has taken Commander Antilles from the medical centre."

She saw Derlin's jaw tighten, saw the flash of hatred that swept across his face. "If the Sheriff doesn't put a blaster bolt in that son of a bitch's head," he told her, "I will!"

"You will stay here, Major!" she instructed, voice brooking no argument. "You will rest, and you will wait for orders!" She fixed him with a flat look, daring him to defy her.

Derlin's anger swept away as quickly as it had flared, leaving him exhausted and fighting to think clearly. He knew that he was in no shape to do anything but exactly what the Princess ordered, he just didn't want to admit it. He had survived on stims too long to be of any use to them. And until the dialysis unit made any headway against the spores in his blood, he was a liability.

So he nodded, reluctantly. "As ordered, Ma'am."


	15. Mission Abort + 24hrs

_Mission Abort + 24hrs_

_13:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

VADER DREW TO A HALT, looking through the transparent durasteel to the still figure lying within the hyper-atmospheric chamber.

Luke...

 _Son_...

Emotion welled up, bringing with it memories... of Padme in his arms; of holding her close, breathing her scent.

 _Something wonderful has happened_.

The surge of love, pride and loss pushed Vader forward. Pressing a gloved hand against the chamber, he reached out, searching for his son through the Force, knowing that he would find nothing but searching, nevertheless. "If I had known of you," he assured the unconscious form, softly, "I would have come for you."

 _It seems in your anger, you killed her_...

The words slammed at him, slicing through him: as raw and as brutal as they had been twenty years before. Grief, anger and hatred swelled... and Vader reined them in, pushing them deep into the core of his being, to smoulder coldly, knowing that he could not allow Palpatine to sense them.

He had to move carefully. He could not afford to give anything away.

Two decades before, in the aftermath of the slaughter at the Jedi Temple, he had believed he could overthrow Palpatine and rule the Empire with Padme. That ambition had shattered after Mustafar, in the midst of the grief and the guilt, in the belief that he had murdered Padme and their unborn child. Unable to join them in death, wrapped in hate and self-loathing, the Dark Side had fuelled his existence. Betrayed by Obi-Wan, justified in the destruction of the Jedi, he had found a purpose in Palpatine’s cause and immersed himself in it.

And then Obi-Wan had re-appeared on the Death Star… and everything changed.

Lies and half-truths had been revealed in the existence of his son... and long forgotten ambitions pushed up from the depths of his consciousness: slowly, at first, but with gathering strength. He found himself distracted by thoughts of power: and dismissed them... until Hoth.

 _We have a new enemy... He could destroy us_...

 _He will join us or die, my Master_.

In the hours that followed, as he had waited for the Millennium Falcon to re-appear, the echoes of the exchange had played through his mind. He had tried, and failed, to meditate. Instead, his thoughts had lingered on the Emperor's words.

And then, on the journey to Bespin, the Force had gifted him a vision: of the future that awaited him if he dragged Luke back to Coruscant, and to Palpatine.

_Lying on the floor, his legs cut from beneath him, he had fought to breathe as his respiration unit failed him. His prosthetic hand lay at his side, severed from his wrist but still clutching the lightsaber… and Luke loomed above him, eyes blazing yellow beneath the dark hood of the cloak._

_“Fulfil your destiny!" Palpatine's voice had ordered. "Strike him down with all your hatred and take your Father’s place at my side!”_

And in that moment, surrounded by the ghosts of his own death, Vader had finally understood. Fully trained as a Jedi, Luke had the potential to become the instrument of Palpatine’s demise, and Palpatine was afraid...

The Sith Master’s only hope, Vader had realised, lay in not just influencing Luke and manipulating him… but in ripping the boy apart, rebuilding him into an animal the Emperor could control... because unless Palpatine dominated Luke completely, the boy would destroy him.

Forewarned by the vision, encouraged by Palpatine’s weakness, he had already been laying plans when he had faced Luke on Bespin. The boy's skills had impressed him. Luke had controlled his anger and his fear. The Force had flowed through him: strong, bright and pure.

The calculated effort to change the future he had been warned of, by luring Luke into the carbon freezing chamber, had failed. As with Padme's death, the encounter had played out exactly as he had foreseen. Luke had escaped the chamber. Trapped, and with only two choices, Luke had retreated to the end of the gantry... and stepped off.

It had taken all his strength to do nothing, to let Luke fall... but the future had changed…

He would no longer lie defenceless on the floor, waiting for death.

Instead, he would hide Luke from Palpatine, protect him from becoming Palpatine's weapon. Then, when the boy was healed, when he was strong again, when the time was right, Luke would come to them on Coruscant. His faith in the Jedi would be crushed. He would be stripped of those close to him, left alone and vulnerable. Struggling under the weight of shattered beliefs, and in the midst of grief, he would let go of the Light and turn to the Dark Side. And when he did, it would not be Palpatine who stepped in to train him.

“Soon, my son,” Vader promised. “Soon you will understand… Soon, you will fulfil your destiny and take your place at my side.”

"My Lord?"

The voice pulled Vader away from hyper-atmospheric chamber. He stepped back, turning. Commander Corl walked towards him, holding out a datapad, "I have the information you requested on the medical specialist."

"Thank you, Commander," Vader told him, taking the pad, reading. Medical Specialist Tarja Karsaar was an ISB agent under the authority of Major Azhlyn at the Ranveig garrison. She had been detailed to infiltrate and investigate the Vaaljajord Route. She had befriended and treated Luke, Derlin and the other Rebels. Vader smiled.

_The woman who, so diligently, nursed you back to health is not a Rebel sympathiser: she is a loyal, Imperial agent._

Looking up, he ordered, "When the medical specialist returns, have her brought to me!"

oo0oo

Toryn Farr walked down the ramp to stand in the shadow of the ship. Shielded from the rain, she folded her arms across her chest and watched the small group that made its way from the anchorage authority building towards one of the troop transports. Four stormtroopers followed a dark-haired ISB officer, and between two of the stormtroopers was another dark-haired man. Barefoot, wearing only a loose pair of white, medical-issue pants, Wedge Antilles made no attempt to struggle.

“When the Republic is restored,” a soft, synthesised voice commented from behind Toryn, “I will take great delight in personally indicting Colonel Marek Vyre for murder and grievous assault...”

“I doubt the Colonel will survive to face judgement, your Highness” Toryn replied, keeping her attention fixed on Antilles. “He’s lost Derlin, and Vader isn’t known for his forgiving nature."

Leia took a deep, steadying breath as memories swept up: of being locked with Vader in an interrogation cell. She let it out slowly, and then asked, "Do we have any idea what Vyre's doing with Antilles?"

"None," Toryn supplied. "We didn't get sliced into the med centre's mainframe in time..." She paused, uncrossing her arms, pushing her hands into her pockets. "Permission to find out?"

"Granted," Leia told her. "I'll ride back-up."

Toryn turned, looking at the Princess. She nodded then turned back. Leia followed her as she headed across the landing areas towards the Imperial troop carriers.

Thunder rumbled down from the mountains, pushing a cool wind across the anchorage, whipping through the rain. Wedge blinked rainwater out of his eyes, trying to not to give in to the terror that was threatening to rise up and swamp him.

The calm of before had been swept away by the sight of the troop transports.

_I will personally ensure that you are confined to Dendraali for re-education…_

Wedge wanted to fight, to rip his arms out of the stormtroopers' grip and run... but he knew it would be futile. He would be brought down after only a few steps, he would get nowhere. Instead, he would lose what little control he had of the situation. He had to keep his wits about him, had to hold out for as long as he could. He was under no illusion about what that would mean, about what he was going to have to endure... but the fear of it was dwarfed by the terror of what would come afterward.

It rose up in his throat, threatening to choke him, threatening to cripple him... He dragged in a deep, steadying breath. The bulk of the troop transport lay only a few steps away.

_You will be the weapon I use to destroy the Vaaljajord Route and... the Rebel Alliance..._

The panic swept in again and it took more strength than he had left to push it down. It reared up, filling his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. The blood pounded in his ears. He stumbled forward on uneven legs.

As the stormtroopers manhandled him into the transport, reason deserted him. He twisted and pulled back, breaking their grip on his arms, turning to run. The stormtroopers behind caught him, driving him down onto the ground. He fought them, screaming denial.

An armoured arm clamped around his throat, choking him. He fought harder, desperation lending him strength, but the arm only tightened against his windpipe.

Marek Vyre folded his arms across his chest in irritation and watched the Rebel struggle against the stormtrooper's grip. He watched the Rebel's resistance lessen, watched his face change colour as the stormtrooper choked him into submission. When the Rebel began to lose consciousness, Vyre ordered, "Enough!"

The trooper released his grip. Barely conscious, Antilles slid onto the cold metal of the floor as the stormtroopers climbed to their feet.

"Secure him!" Vyre ordered. "Be careful of the medical equipment!" he went on as the troopers moved to lift him.

They unlocked the restraints around his wrists, dragging him towards the forward bulkhead. They left him sitting on the floor but secured his wrists to pipes above his head.

Walking towards them, Vyre reached into his pocket, pulling out a small case. Opening it, he drew out a syringe and a small vial of liquid. He put the case back in his pocket, pressing the vial into the syringe. "Soften him up!"

"There's another way!" a voice interrupted as two stormtroopers moved to obey.

Anger flaring, Vyre turned. Thumbs hooked into her belt, the female bounty hunter stepped up into the transport, sauntering towards him. Behind her, the Ubese hunter also moved into the transport, but lounged against the open door.

Toryn nodded towards the hypodermic in Vyre's hand. "Thiohexium phenate?" she hazarded as she walked towards him. "Mind Probe?"

When Vyre said nothing, she went on, "Pain isn't the only thing that thiohexium works with, you know..."

Vyre quirked an eyebrow, unable to believe the temerity of the woman: questioning the validity of proven Imperial methods, questioning his authority. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "We must get together later," he retorted, voice dripping sarcasm, "so that you can entertain me with your vast experience of the interrogation process."

He started to turn away.

"I can help you."

"This," Vyre told her, "is not your concern!"

"Oh, it is my concern," Toryn countered. "Antilles was transferred into our custody!"

 _Damn the woman!_ Resisting the urge to simply put a blaster bolt in her head, he turned back to her. Voice dangerously quiet, he warned her, "Antilles is an Imperial prisoner. This is Imperial business. Go back to your ship."

"Look..." Toryn began.

Vyre's patience snapped. He looked at the stormtroopers, indicating the bounty hunter with a tilt of his head. The troopers responded, bringing their blaster rifles to bear on her.

Toryn looked at each of them. Then, in one fluid movement, she drew her blaster pistol from her hip holster and aimed it at Antilles. Leia pushed herself off the door, also drawing her blaster, training it on the closest stormtrooper. If this all went wrong and they fired on Toryn, she knew she'd be able to take the stormtroopers down. Vyre, however, might be a different matter.

Ready to fight, Leia waited for Farr to make her next move.

"You have a choice," Toryn told the Colonel, calmly. "You can go back to Vader and tell him that you've killed two of his operatives and lost Antilles... but since you've already lost Derlin, I doubt he'll take it well. Or, you can give me the hypo of thiohexium and let me interrogate Antilles my way. That way you get your answers and I protect my asset. Antilles is no use to me dead, and you've already put him in a med centre once today..."

She watched the anger and resentment flash across Vyre's face. Cursing silently, she wondered if she had perhaps pushed too far. "You're a smart man, Colonel," she tried. "You know that Vader wouldn't retain our services if we couldn't deliver. All it will cost you is that hypo of Mind Probe."

For a long, anxious, moment, Toryn wasn't sure if he would go for it. She and Leia were outnumbered five to two. This could all be about to go horrendously wrong…

Then a slow, cold smile tugged at Vyre’s lips. He shrugged. "Very well... but if you fail, it will cost you far more than just Antilles." He held out the syringe to her.

Slipping her blaster back into the holster, breathing a silent sigh of relief, Toryn moved towards him. Behind her, Leia returned her blaster pistol to her holster, but kept her hand resting on the grip.

Taking the hypodermic needle, Toryn asked, "What do you need to know?"

"Per Alvessen's involvement has already been confirmed by an Imperial agent within Malhördhem," Vyre told her, "but he has neither the wits nor the resources to have done it alone. The good Sheriff has persuaded Lord Vader that she had no involvement. I am not so convinced..."

Toryn considered that then nodded in acknowledgement, "Okay... I'll need room to work."

Vyre waved his hand at the stormtroopers. They moved past the bounty hunter, taking up stations at the open doors. Vyre stepped back, but not too far, crossing his arms over his chest.

Toryn turned. Nudging Antilles' legs together with her feet, she straddled them, sinking to her knees. His head was down, chin on his chest, his breathing coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Commander?" she called softly. When he failed to respond, she hooked a finger beneath his chin, lifting his head. "Commander?"

He coughed, gently, but his eyes stayed closed. Mottled marks were forming on his neck.

"Commander Antilles!" Toryn tried again, voice more forceful. When he failed to respond, she leant in close, barking, "Commander! Look at me!"

Wedge dragged his eyes open.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, recognising the woman in front of him. Elation flooded through him. He almost moaned in relief...

And then he saw the stormtroopers behind her.

Fear flared again, but receded as he focussed back on Toryn Farr. The spectre of Dendraali faded. If Toryn Farr wasn't here to rescue him, she was here to kill him, and death was a far less terrifying prospect than the future Vyre was promising him. Anxiety still fluttered in his belly, but his heart no longer hammered frantically in his chest. He found himself oddly at peace: Farr's presence giving him strength, banishing the mind-numbing panic that had crushed him before.

He closed his eyes, swallowing against an aching throat. Then he took a breath, opening his eyes, looking at her again.

"Lord Vader has been gracious enough to transfer you into our custody, Commander," she began, letting go of his chin to run the back of her fingers down his cheek. "The Diazez Cartel are going to be very happy to see you... I hear their Manwah is looking for a new body slave."

Drawing her thumb gently across his lips, she continued, "Maybe I should test your..." she trailed off, as if searching for the right word, finally continuing, "abilities... before taking you there." She smiled, quipping, "You might be worth more to the Sienar Corporation..."

Wedge swallowed, saying nothing but turning his head away.

"Look at me, Commander!" she ordered. When he refused, she yelled at him, "LOOK AT ME!"

Slowly, he turned his head, locking his gaze with hers.

"I have some questions I need answered before we release you from here," she told him. "I don't suppose you'll offer the answers willingly?"

He looked at her for a long moment, trying to look defiant. Then he swallowed, rasping, "Antilles, Wedge: Commander. Alliance Forces..."

Toryn smiled at him. "You people never make it easy, do you?" She ran the back of her fingers down his cheek. "But I'm glad about that, Commander... You see, the Colonel here is interested in my interrogation techniques, so you've played right into my hands." She tilted her head, brushing her thumb across his lips. "Have you ever suffered the mind probe, Commander? It's almost impossible to resist. And..." she held up the hypodermic needle, "I happen to have it right here. So... Last chance... Tell me who helped Per Alvessen hide you, and I won't have to use it..."

Wedge held her gaze. He had no idea what she was planning but he knew that, whatever happened, she would protect the Alliance and the people who had risked everything to help them. He swallowed, taking a breath and grated out, "Antilles, Wedge: Commander..."

She kneeled up, transferring the hypodermic to her other hand. As she did so, she pushed more than half of the drug out of the syringe. It fell into the material of Wedge's already rain-soaked pants, disappearing. She found a vein, near where the dialysis unit was attached to his arm and pushed the needle in.

Wedge grunted at the sting of the hypodermic. Then he groaned softly at the feeling of the cool liquid flowing into his vein and down his arm. Withdrawing the syringe, Toryn turned, holding it out to Vyre. The Colonel stepped forward, taking it, watching Antilles.

Toryn sank back down, sitting on the pilot's legs. Slowly, gently, she trailed her fingers down his chest to his navel, before running them back up to his neck. Wedge frowned, looking at her. And then she saw him blink once, twice, suddenly having difficulty focussing on her. The thiohexium was beginning to take effect. It wasn't a full dose, but it would make his reactions believable. Vyre was accomplished in the use of the drug. There were side-effects that Wedge would never be able to fake.

She was taking a huge gamble. It could still go completely wrong... but leaving Antilles to the mercy of Vyre's interrogation under the influence of the Mind Probe wasn't an option. Few could resist the drug for long. Lack of time and was the only reason Vyre hadn't broken Hobbie Klivian or Sheriff Svioisaar. Wedge had already been brutalised and tortured. He had only just been pulled out of a bacta tank. He wasn't in any physical or mental position to resist Vyre's brand of interrogation for long.

He could, however, help her spin the story that Tarja Karsaar had presented to them, to undermine Colonel Marek Vyre.

Toryn lifted her hand, gently trailing her fingers across Wedge's collar bone. "Let go, Commander," she told him. "Don't fight it... It won't hurt if you don't fight it..."

His face began to flush as the drug invaded his system. Small beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. It was an indicator that Vyre would recognise.

"Wedge," Toryn ordered, "look at me." He didn't respond. "Wedge!" she repeated, more forcibly, "Look at me!"

He dragged his eyes open. She caressed his cheek with her thumb. "You need to trust me. You need to let me help you... Tell me who helped you at the crash site..."

He closed his eyes, turning his head out of her grasp. The ache in his back, shoulder and ribs had blurred into a hazy disconnection. He felt buzzed, like he did when that third glass of CarnMor tipped him gently out of sobriety into inebriation.

"This," Vyre interrupted, "is going nowhere!"

Toryn looked around at him, glaring at him. "How much pain do you have to inflict before they answer your questions, Colonel? How much fear? My way is easier on the body!" She turned her attention back to the dark-haired pilot, gently caressing his chest with her fingers. "By the time I'm done, Commander Antilles will tell me everything I need to know... and then beg me for more thiohexium just so that he can feel the same rush of pleasure again..."

Vyre frowned. Thiohexium phenate had been designed to combine with the body's reaction to pain, fear and stress. Was it possible it also reacted with other biochemical processes of the body? For a brief moment he found himself entertaining the possibility.... and then he watched the bounty hunter paw at the Rebel Commander, and the thought of the Mind Probe being reduced to a cheap, bordella drug sickened him.

He was an Imperial officer. He had taken an oath to protect the Empire and serve the Emperor. The security of the Empire would not be kept through displays of licentiousness such as this. Fear of force, fear of reprisal, would do that. He crossed his arms, keeping his council, letting her have enough cord to hang herself.

"Who helped you at the crash site, Commander?" she was asking, again.

Vyre could see that the thiohexium was affecting the Rebel. Left to his own interrogation techniques, Vyre would be ordering another beating.

"Commander! Look at me, Commander!" Toryn ordered. "Look at me!"

Wedge turned his head, dragging his eyes open, doing as she asked. He knew he was pushing it, knew that he might be taking things too far, but Toryn was asking him to trust her and until she told him otherwise, he was going to keep his mouth shut.

"Commander..." she began, voice sultry, "you've been through so much... You need to let go, you need to trust me. Let me help you..." She caressed his cheek with her thumb, again. "Please..." she crooned, "let me help you... Can you do that? Will you let me help you?"

Wedge swallowed, closing his eyes. "Can’t..."

"Look at me, Commander..."

He heaved his eyes open. Leaning in, she kissed him gently on the lips. "Who helped you at the crash site?"

When he didn't answer, she brushed her hands gently up his arms, stopping short of binders. The heat of her palms burned against his chilled skin, sending a shudder through him. Toryn dropped her hands, leaning back in as if to kiss his neck, murmuring, "Keep it together, Wedge... We’re almost done…"

She drew away, brushing her fingers along his collar bone. "Who helped you at the crash site, Commander?"

“Can’t…” He shook his head... then groaned, closing his eyes as the world tilted and shifted around him, sending his stomach roiling.

Marek Vyre snorted in irritation, folding his arms across his chest, frowning in distaste as the bounty hunter trailed her fingers down the Rebel's chest again. "This," he repeated, "is getting us nowhere!"

Toryn turned her head, glaring at the Imperial officer, holding up her hand to stop any further comment as he opened his mouth again. Then she turned her attention back to Antilles. "Trust me, Wedge... It will all be fine... Don't fight it..."

He tried to turn his head away, but Toryn gently caught his chin, stopping him. “Commander! Look at me!”

Wedge groaned softly. Senses heightened by the thiohexium, he shuddered. The warmth of her hand burned into him. He opened his eyes, but the world spun around him, sending nausea through him, and he closed them again.

Toryn knew she was losing him, that he wouldn’t be able to put up the pretence much longer. His skin was clammy. He was trembling, beginning to shiver. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around him, sharing her body warmth with him as she made a show of kissing him, slowly and gently.

"Enough!" Vyre ordered, taking a step forward, losing the last of his patience with the ridiculous distortion of an interrogation.

Toryn broke the kiss, turning her head to the side. Lips close to Wedge’s ear, she told him, softly, "Deputy Zånder..."

Then she drew back, trailing a hand down his chest. "Who helped you at the crash site, Commander?"

Antilles made a soft, incoherent sound.

"Enough!" Vyre ordered, again, walking towards them. “You have failed!”

Toryn ignored him. Drawing back from Wedge, she asked, "Who helped you at the crash site, Commander?"

"Deputy..." he began.

The word stopped Vyre in his tracks. The Rebel swallowed, grating out, "Sander..."

Toryn turned her head, looking up at Vyre. The expression of malevolent disbelief on his face was quickly hidden, but Toryn saw it. She turned, looking across at Leia.

Vyre dragged his attention away from Antilles as the Ubese hunter began, "Dep-u-ty Zån-der Olg-en-ssen Per Alv-ess-en yratzck poot... Buss toh zee..."

Vyre knew the names. He had a fair idea of what the Ubese hunter had said, even before it was translated. Olgenssen's complicity didn't rule the Sheriff out, however. He looked back at Antilles, demanding, "Did Sheriff Svioisaar get to the crash site before or after the Deputy?"

Wedge said nothing, trying to breathe through a mounting nausea.

"Did Sheriff Svioisaar get to the crash site before or after the Zånder Olgenssen?" Vyre demanded again.

"Colonel,” Toryn began.

Vyre moved. Pushing the bounty hunter sideways, off of Antilles, he swung his fist, backhanding the Rebel pilot across the face. Pulling his sidearm from the holster, he trained it on the bounty hunter, warning her, "Stay out of my way!" Then he turned to the stormtroopers, ordering, "Get him to his feet!"

Toryn scrambled backwards out of the way, knowing that to challenge Vyre now would only complicate the situation: and that would end badly. Blood gushed from Antilles nose. The stormtroopers grabbed him, dragging him up from the floor, holding his arms as Vyre backhanded him across the face again.

"When did you see Sheriff Svioisaar at the crash site?" Vyre barked.

Wedge swallowed down blood, head reeling, his stomach rebelling. He gagged, coughing.

Vyre drove a fist into his belly. Then he grabbed the Rebel’s hair, dragging his head back, stepping in to pin the pilot against the bulkhead with the weight of his own body. "Svioisaar!" he yelled. "When did you see her at the crash site?"

Wedge swallowed again, holding on to the name Toryn had given him. "Didn't...” he denied. “Sander..."

"Did the Sheriff arrive before or after the Deputy?" Vyre barked.

"Sander..." Wedge choked out.

"WHEN DID THE SHERIFF GET TO THE CRASH SITE?"

"Wasn't..." Wedge stammered, "there..."

Vyre let him go, stepping back, his world crumbling around him. He had been wrong. His gut instinct had never let him down. Now, however, when it mattered most, under the direct scrutiny of the Emperor and Vader, it had failed him. He took another step back. Panic flared, briefly, and then anger and resentment surged in.

It was over. It was all over. Not even damage control could save him now. The only thing that could salvage the situation was finding Derlin and he had no idea where to start. The Rebel sympathisers had made sure that there was no surveillance data to show where the Deputy might have taken Derlin. He was operating blind in a situation that he had no control over.

He took a slow, deep, calming breath. He had not yet been removed from command: he still held authority, still had access to all his resources. He had to start from the beginning again: start at the beginning of the whole situation and move forward; crawl to Vader; admit his mistake…

He had been nothing but loyal, dedicated and diligent. His record, until now, had been unblemished. He had played by the rules… unlike the Lord Darth Vader, who appeared content to sell Imperial assets for profit and use unscrupulous, undisciplined, non-human sources. Sources who sought to undermine him; who believe they knew better than him.

_You can go back to Vader and tell him that you've killed two of his operatives and lost Antilles... Or, you can give me the hypo of thiohexium and let me interrogate Antilles my way._

Cold, hard, hatred settled deep in his belly. He took another step back. He was damned if he was going to let these bounty hunting scum elicit any more information from Antilles once his back was turned. He was damned if he was going to allow them to take a report back to Vader. He lifted his sidearm, aiming at the Rebel pilot. Covered in blood, retching on a dry stomach, only the stormtroopers' grip kept him upright.

Vyre fired.

The Rebel bucked backwards against the wall then collapsed into the stormtroopers' grip.

"Release him!" Vyre ordered. The stormtroopers holding the Rebel let him slide to the floor.

Slipping the blaster pistol back into the holster, Vyre turned to look at the bounty hunter who still sat on the metal deck. The look of stunned disbelief on her face drew a smile to his lips. "Your prisoner, I believe," he told her, turning and walking off of the troop transport.

One of the stormtroopers unlocked the restraints around Antilles' wrists. Then they all moved, following Vyre off the transport, booted feet marching in step. For a heartbeat, Toryn was frozen to the spot. And then she moved, scrambling across to Wedge, searching for a pulse against his neck.

Leia also moved, pulling the blaster from her leg holster, training it on the Imperials as they moved away across the landing pads towards the anchorage authority building. Hitting her compad, she called the ship. "Freedom! Freedom! Poot! Pootoh!" she told Threepio, moving towards Toryn and Wedge, blaster still trained on the Imperials.

The droid's cultured tones answered her, confirming that help was on the way. "Yat otzck."

"It's okay," Toryn told her, voice breaking in relief. "It's okay... He's alive... It was a stun shot... He's alive."


	16. Mission Abort + 26hrs

Part 16

_Mission Abort + 26hrs_

_15:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

Eyes closed, head bowed, Vader knelt opposite the hyper-atmospheric chamber, seeking the clarity of meditation. It evaded him. Errant memories jumbled through his mind, entwined with snatches of potential futures. The Dark Side crowded close: feeding on his sedition; his plans for betrayal; his desire to be the one to show his son the full potential of the power he had been born into.

The boy was injured, the Force lost to him. It could take months for him to recover and it was imperative that he was kept removed, away from the Emperor. Under Palpatine’s influence, as the Force returned to him, the Dark Side would rip Luke apart. Palpatine would mould him into a rabid animal that answered only to him...

_“Fulfil your destiny! Strike him down with all your hatred and take your Father’s place at my side!”_

Forewarned, Vader was about to thwart Palpatine’s intent. Events would no longer play out to Palpatine's advantage. Luke would not become Palpatine's weapon.

The medical specialist treating Luke was a loyal Imperial officer: an ISB agent. He had already placed Luke in her extended care, under his direct authority. Luke would be protected until he was healed. And when he was strong in the Force, once more, he would come to them on Coruscant… but it would not be Palpatine who showed him the full potential of the Dark Side of the Force...

_You will turn to the Dark Side, young Skywalker... or you will die!"_

"NOOOOOOOO!"

The scream startled Vader, dragging him out of his contemplation. Unable to determine whether Luke had cried out, or if the denial had been confined to his own thoughts, he flowed to his feet, moving towards the hyper-atmospheric chamber.

Luke lay still and silent. The heart monitor ticked a steady beat. No flags of warning flashed on the medical display.

“My Lord?”

Vader took a step backwards, away from the chamber. Then he turned, looking at the stormtrooper who stood in the doorway. “Commander…”

“The bounty hunters report that they have been unable to obtain any information on Derlin or Olgenssen,” the trooper told him. “Their investigations in the town, and at the anchorage, have revealed nothing. Antilles has been taken to their ship.”

Irritation washed through Vader. “I issued no orders for his release.”

“Colonel Vyre removed him from the medical centre for further questioning,” the Commander supplied.

Vader considered that for a long moment. That: and the obvious history between Colonel Marek Vyre and the bounty hunter Farn. The Colonel’s displeasure at the woman’s presence had been more than obvious when the shuttle had landed. Yet, now he was transferring Imperial prisoners to her custody, on his own authority.

The kernel of an idea began to grow, but he needed time to form it completely. “What further information did Vyre elicit from him?” Vader asked, finally.

“We have received no report from the Colonel, my Lord.”

“Where is he now?”

“With Sheriff Svioisaar… who also reports little progress in securing Derlin. However, she has concluded that Olgenssen must have taken the Major to ground somewhere close to the town. By now, the spore infestation will be limiting Derlin’s ability to move, but all vehicles leaving the area have been accounted for and ruled out of the investigation.”

Vader contemplated that information. Derlin had escaped custody on Vyre’s watch while the Colonel had been distracted by his determination to confirm the Sheriff’s complicity in helping the Rebels. Had Vyre uncovered something that might indeed implicate her: something he required Antilles to confirm?

“Advise Colonel Vyre that I require his presence in my shuttle,” he ordered. “And inform the bounty hunters that I wish to see their captain.”

The Commander nodded, confirming, “Yes, my Lord!” before moving away to comply. Vader turned, looking at his unconscious son for a long moment. Then he turned, striding out of the room.

oo0oo

Leia Organa sighed softly, stretching her neck to the side and reaching up to massage her opposite shoulder. The information Artoo had managed to download from the Dendraali facility was comprehensive, if incomplete. It appeared that everything the Alliance had feared, was true.

Alliance personnel, political prisoners and human criminals were being held on Dendraali for re-education.

Palpatine had been employing the technique for years. And those he couldn’t re-educate, he simply had assassinated: like Bren Derlin's father. Until now, however, the Alliance had been unable to secure any details of the mind-wipe procedure. The material Artoo had obtained from the Dendraali base contained comprehensive information on the process. There was also a list of names, of people being held within the facility, but the download had been interrupted and the list was incomplete.

There was other information, but that had also only been only partially downloaded. Alliance Intelligence were already working on deciphering it.

"Kaffin, your Highness?"

Leia looked up, smiling at Shawn Valdez. "Thank you," she told him, taking the offered beaker. "How's Antilles?"

"He's comfortable," Valdez confirmed, settling into a seat beside her. "It looked worse than it was. There's no permanent, physical damage. And the dialysis unit is keeping the spore infestation under control."

Leia nodded, breathing in the smell of the kaffin. “He fought them,” she told Valdez. “The minute they got him aboard that troop carrier, he started fighting them. He shook off two stormtroopers, and it took another two to take him down…”

“After everything he’s been through,” Valdez began softly, “and being so close to rescue, only to see it being taken away… I’m not sure I’d have been together enough to work with Toryn…”

“Hmmm,” Leia agreed, swallowing a mouthful of kaffin, resolutely pushing away thoughts of the detention cell on the Death Star. She smiled, instead. “But he did. And he played his part. And now Sheriff Svioisaar has her alibi; Colonel Vyre is discredited; and all we have to do is rescue Hobbie and Luke from beneath Darth Vader’s influence…”

“Piece of cake,” Valdez quipped. Then he continued, “We have an interesting development on the Skywalker front, your Highness. Tarja Karsaar has been redeployed. She’s now under Vader’s direct authority: detailed as Skywalker’s personal physician…”

Leia sat up straight, startled by the information. “What?”

Valdez quirked an eyebrow, telling her, “That was my reaction, too…”

“But…” Leia began. It made no sense. Palpatine had issued orders. Vader was here to transport Luke and Derlin to Coruscant. Unless…

Valdez watched her for a moment. “You’re wondering what Vader is up to, right?”

Leia looked at him. “No,” she began, “Not exactly… I was…”

She trailed off, gathering her thoughts before continuing. “On Bespin, Vader arrived ahead of us… but he wasn’t interested in me, or the information I could have given him about the Alliance. He was focussed on catching Commander Skywalker. I assumed that Vader wanted to kill him in revenge… or for his own pleasure… or simply to wipe out one of the last remaining Jedi… But…” She took a deep breath, “Vader could easily have taken Luke's life, here in the medical centre, but he hasn’t. And I don’t believe that Palpatine wants Luke alive to prove that the Alliance is being influenced by a Jedi. Palpatine’s propaganda will be undermined if he suddenly produces a member of the supposedly-long-dead Jedi order… Vader must want Commander Skywalker for something else?”

Valdez tilted his head, quirking an eyebrow again. Leia’s argument made sense. “But what?”

A gnawing, uneasy feeling settled over her, but Leia was unsure where her train of thought was leading her. She took a moment, gathering the information in her head before putting it all in front of Valdez. “There was a Jedi hiding on Luke’s home planet. He was a friend of my Father’s from the Clone Wars. My Father sent me to Tatooine to find him. He told me that Ob-Wan Kenobi might know of a way to mortally wound the Empire. When I asked him why he hadn’t contacted Kenobi before, he told me ‘everything takes time to prepare.’ I thought he meant that Kenobi was building a weapon of some kind, or was the architect of an espionage ring that had taken time to put in place… but… I think my Father was talking about Commander Skywalker.”

Valdez sat back, looking at her. “Because it took time for Obi-Wan to train him as a Jedi,” Valdez concluded. Kenobi had been a Jedi. Luke was a Jedi. More importantly, Luke was the son of Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi who had been one of Palpatine’s most trusted generals before the Jedi had been massacred on Coruscant. It made sense that Obi-Wan should be in hiding close to Anakin Skywalker’s son, to protect him… and teach him.

“But…” Leia began. Then she stopped. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There were some things she would not openly reveal about Luke. Like the fact that Obi-Wan had given Luke only minimal training. It was why Luke had disappeared after Hoth: to train with another Jedi. And Luke had changed since Bespin. He had refused to talk about his training with the other Jedi, or about what he had gone through. She had seen how much more skilled he now was… but there was a sadness to him, an intensity that sometimes disconcerted her. The carefree farm boy had gone… replaced by the entire weight of the universe on his shoulders, it seemed.

“Commander Skywalker is a talented soldier and pilot,” Valdez considered aloud, “but how could one man be a weapon that could bring down the Empire?”

“One man brought down the Jedi,” Leia pointed out.

“But Palpatine had legions of clone troopers,” Valdez reminded her. “And Vader.”

“Vader killed Luke’s father… Luke’s father killed Dooku…”

Leia sat up as something about what she’d just said struck a chord. “Luke’s father killed Dooku…” she repeated. Anakin Skywalker had been a Jedi. Dooku had also, once, been a Jedi…

She had grown up on those stories: of how the Jedi had been selfless peace-keepers to the galaxy. Of course, the official histories said something different, but her Father had warned her that history was written by the victors. He had inspired her with stories of a young Senator from Naboo, Padme Amidala, who had fought alongside him in the Senate, but who had also fought side-by-side with the Jedi against Count Dooku, a Jedi himself before turning on them, siding with the Seperatists and allying himself to Palpatine.

Dread twisted through Leia’s stomach as she remembered that Dooku had once been a Jedi: that he had turned on them, allying himself with the Sith, with Palpatine... Was that why Palpatine wanted Luke alive? Was that why Tarja had been redeployed to care for him? Seriously injured and completely helpless…

Valdez saw a look of realisation creep across Leia’s face. It disconcerted him. “What?” he asked.

“We have to get Commander Skywalker out!” Leia told him.

“Your Highness,” Valdez countered, pushing away a growing anxiety and forcing himself to remain calm. “You’re running three steps ahead of me.” The Princess was spooked, and he trusted her instincts. But they already had a plan in place, and now was not the time to rush into changing it. “Why the sudden urgency?”

Leia swallowed, then took a deep breath. “My Father kept records, from before the Jedi massacre. Dooku trained as a Jedi. He turned away from the Jedi, to side with the Sith. Commander Skywalker would never willingly turn from the Jedi path… but he’s seriously injured and vulnerable.”

Horror tightened slowly in Valdez’s chest. “And there’s an Imperial mind-wipe facility on Dendraali…” The enormity of it shoved dread through him. He had seen the recordings of Zev Senesca post-Hoth, vehement and convinced of his place within the Imperial ranks. Trained as a Jedi, turned to the Imperial cause, Skywalker would be… terrifying.

“We must get him out!” Leia was insisting.

Valdez took a deep breath. Then he countered, “We may have to **take** him out, Your Highness…”

Leia’s heart lurched. She looked at Shawn Valdez in horror. “Kill him? No! Absolutely, no!”

Voice calm but earnest, Valdez reminded her, “Your Highness, you know the destruction and death that Vader and his troops brought to the Jedi temple on Coruscant. If the foundation of the Rebel Alliance had not already been laid down, by your Father and others, the genocide of the Jedi would have handed complete control to Palpatine and we would not be sitting here having this conversation. Commander Skywalker is your personal friend: he knows how you think. And as a Commander, as a SpecForce operative, he knows the intimate workings of the Alliance. If he is subverted, if he is trained as another Vader, the Alliance might never recover from the damage he could do.”

“No!” Leia told him, desperately trying to deny the small voice in her head that warned her that Valdez was right. “Luke would never…”

“Neither would Zev Senesca,” Valdez countered, “but we pulled him out of a TIE fighter.”

oo0oo

Colonel Marek Vyre tugged on his uniform jacket and straightened his cap before walking up the ramp of the shuttle.

“I can assure you,” a familiar voice was promising, “that the people of Malhördhem are steadfast in their support for the Emperor. We are acutely aware of the issue of the so-called Vaaljajord Route. Any malcontents who have arrived here have been taken straight to Sherrif Svoiosaar, who has…”

“Who has demonstrated her incompetence,” Vader’s voice interrupted, “by allowing seditionists to infiltrate her office!”

Vyre slowed his pace as the situation realigned around him once again. Despite being very publicly reinstated by Vader, the Sheriff was still under suspicion.

Vyre took a deep breath, mind racing. Had Vader simply given her enough rope to hang herself? If so, why had Vader openly humiliated him in front of her and her Deputies? Resentment swept through him. He was a loyal, Imperial officer. He deserved better than this...

And yet... he had allowed Derlin to escape him.

Resentment flowed to embarrassment. It was a mistake that he would not have tolerated from a more junior officer. Was it any wonder that Vader had sidelined him? Mentally, he shook himself. He had made a serious mistake, but he was still alive: unlike Admiral Kendal Ozzel. He had to draw a line, move forward, do what he could to make amends.

“Lord Vader…” Agnessa Gunnistsaar was trying.

Vyre reached the top of the ramp as Vader took a step towards the Malhördhem Mayor. Despite himself, Vyre found himself admitting a grudging admiration for the woman as, sure in her own authority, she stood her ground against Vader’s advance.

"Your Sheriff's incompetence echoes the ineptitude that has pervaded Vaaljajord since the Emperor saw fit to dissolve the Senate!" Vader told her. "Your protestations of dedication are empty! Loyal subjects of the Emperor would not have suffered seditionists inside their administration and there is no doubt that the Rebel terrorists were aided and abetted by activists within this community! The Emperor showed leniency to Vaaljajord once. He will not show such leniency again!"

"With respect, Lord Vader," the Mayor countered, "the emergency service personnel who attended the crashed ship were threatened: coerced into aiding the survivors!"

Beneath the obsidian mask, Vader quirked an eyebrow, taken aback by the Mayor's unruffled self-assurance. He was unused to having his authority contradicted, and it had been a long time since his intimidation had appeared to have such little effect on anyone. Intrigued, he crossed his arms, letting her continue.

"An elderly couple were held at blasterpoint! But despite the intimidation, and at the first opportunity, the Rebels were handed over into Colonel Vyre’s custody. His subsequent handling of the situation," she went on, "was entirely inappropriate! His heavy-handedness may have delivered Major Derlin, but that was clearly a ruse to prevent the Colonel executing any more of Derlin's men!"

Vader considered her for a long moment, then looked across at Vyre.

"The penalty for treason is death," Vyre offered. "Their own actions condemned them."

Vader turned his attention back to the Mayor. "Your protest is noted," he told her, uncrossing his arms and turning away.

Agnessa opened her mouth, then closed it again, realising that she was being dismissed. Bristling with indignation and frustration, she clenching her jaw and turned. Head held high, studiously ignoring Vyre, she walked past the Colonel and down the ramp of the shuttle.

"What news of Derlin?" Vader asked after a long moment of silence.

"None, my Lord."

Vader turned the full weight of his attention onto the Colonel. "The Emperor is… displeased."

Vyre swallowed. Then he took a breath. "He has good reason, my Lord."

Vader crossed his arms again, studying the Colonel. He had anticipated excuses, assurances of finding Derlin: given time. Instead, Vyre appeared to have acknowledged and accepted his failure, and the fate it might bring. "Your record has been exemplary... until now..."

Vyre took another breath. "I have lived only to serve the Emperor."

"And he has reassigned you..."

Vyre’s heart sank. “Lord Vader…” he began.

"You are now under my direct authority."

Vyre nodded, his heart sinking further even as he acknowledged that his punishment could have been far worse. His every move, his every breath, would now be scrutinised by Vader. It was a confirmation that no further mistakes would be tolerated… but at least he was still alive to prove himself. "Yes, my Lord."

"What is your history with the bounty hunter?"

Vyre frowned, thrown by the complete switch in subject matter. "I have no history with her, My Lord."

"You resent her presence."

"I… have never found any need for bounty hunters, my Lord," Vyre told him, truthfully, choosing his words carefully, acutely aware that they were here under Vader's licence. "In my experience, they are undisciplined and unreliable."

"You limit your resources," Vader accused. "They have their uses. Your file," he went on, switching subject again, "indicates that you were a field agent before transferring to Vaaljajord.”

Unsettled, Vyre nodded, wondering where all of this was going. “Yes, my Lord.”

“I require you to return to the field."

A deep-seated sense of foreboding settled low in Vyre’s stomach. "What is my mission, my Lord?"

“You will return Skywalker to Rebel lines.”

If any other Imperial officer had given him those orders, Vyre would have laughed. He blinked, wondering if he had possibly misheard.

"Skywalker is in a coma,” Vader was continuing. “He will give us no information. He is, however, still of use to us. Specialist Karsaar will accompany you."

"My Lord," Vyre began, finding his voice, "the Rebels are unlikely to believe my defection..."

“It is,” Vader admitted, “improbable… but the orders issued by the Emperor for your arrest will make it entirely plausible.” He paused, and then continued, “The Rebels infiltrated the Dendraali base to secure information on the mindwipe process and the prisoners confined there. The attempt to access that information was only partially successful. As a senior ISB officer, you have intimate knowledge if the mindwipe process and can secure the information the Rebels want. That will give them cause for consideration.”

Vyre drew himself up, a slow, cold smile pulling across his lips. He was back on solid ground. He had direction and purpose. The anxiety in his stomach turned from trepidation to exhilaration. “I am to provide misinformation?”

“No,” Vader ordered, “you will give them whatever information they require. And you will include the names Mace Windu and Bail Organa in the list of prisoners being held in the Dendraali facility.”

Vyre knew of Organa. He had been the Senator for Alderaan before the planet’s destruction, father of the traitorous Leia Organa. Windu, however, he was not familiar with.

“You will do whatever is necessary to gain the Rebels’ trust,” Vader was continuing. “Maintain communication silence until Specialist Karsaar contacts you. When she does, you will bring Skywalker to Coruscant.”

Vyre took all that information in, sifting quickly through it. Tilting his head, narrowing his eyes, he surmised, “You believe Skywalker will recover from the coma, my Lord?”

“I have seen his condition before… in another Jedi…”

Vyre barely kept the surprise from showing on his face. Executive Order Sixty-Six clearly stated that all Jedi were to be hunted down and killed... The Emperor obviously had good reason to keep Luke Skywalker alive, however, and it was not his place to question it.

“Skywalker is young,” Vader warned, “but do not underestimate him!”

“I will take all necessary precautions, Lord Vader,” Vyre assured him.

“Karsaar is aware that she is now under my authority but she has not yet been apprised of this mission. She will be so imminently. The orders for your arrest will be issued once it is safe to remove Skywalker from the medical facility. You have until then to lay whatever groundwork is required for infiltration... However, the Rebels are almost certainly laying plans for a rescue attempt. Facilitate them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Vyre assured him.

“Your identification authorisation is Tusken One Aurek,” Vader told him. “It will afford you unquestioned, unhindered passage to Coruscant… or to me.”

“Tusken One Aurek,” Vyre repeated, committing the code to memory. “Yes, my Lord.”

Vader took a step towards him. “Do not fail again, Colonel Vyre!” he warned.

The unvoiced threat hung in the air and, in the face of it, Vyre could find no effective words of assurance for the Dark Lord. Instead, he simply inclined his head in acknowledgement. Then he turned on his heel and strode down the ramp of the shuttle.

oo0oo

Tarja Karsaar synched her comlink with her desk display and brought up the information the Rebel Alliance had streamed onto it while she had been at Lady Valda’s. She blinked in surprise, leaning forward, re-reading the file tags. It was all medical data. It was all Jedi-related medical data. Where in the universe had they found this stuff?

“Search!” she ordered… then paused as the parameter icon began to blink on the screen, unsure of what to look for. “No,” she decided, finally, “cross-reference new data with medical file: Skywalker Luke.”

The icon disappeared. There was a short delay then the centre’s medical mainframe announced, pleasantly, “Three hundred twenty four references: splenic injury. Two hundred ninety seven references: head trauma. Two references: Spore Lung. One reference…”

“Spore Lung,” Tarja interrupted.

The screen changed, displaying a report. Tarja scrolled down to the summary.

_...The facultative parasitic microorganisms found on the species of acereaec trees specific to the Forest of Daemor destroy the midi-chlorians, reducing the patient's sensitivity to the Force. The exact process is, as yet, undetermined, but in extreme infestations the microorganisms render the patient completely insensitive to the Force..._

Frowning, Tarja sat back. She already knew that the spores killed the midi-chlorians. Midi-chlorian destruction caused multi-system collapse within all species. In the human body it affected the respiratory system, the heart, the liver, the brain; caused seizures, blindness, muscle-weakness. It was why Spore Lung was so dangerous. Without treatment, it was terminal.

And, it appeared, it also caused disruption of the Force.

She knew little about the Jedi, but she had heard her grandfather denigrate them. He had ridiculed their Force-magic, calling it smoke and mirrors. "Cross reference midi-chlorians, Jedi and the Force," she ordered.

"Definition: midi-chlorian..."

"Define," Tarja instructed. She was, of course, aware of the non-Jedi medical definition, but how had the Jedi identified it?

"Midi-chlorian: membrane-bound, biological microcompartment found in the cells of most species, which reacts to the Force. As yet, studies are unable to determine whether it is the microcompartment or the membrane which resonates within the Force, however midi-chlorians form the connection of every living thing to the Force...."

"Stop," Tarja interrupted. "Define," she ordered, "the Force."

"The Force: an energy field created by all living things and integral to the existence of the universe."

So, Tarja considered, life created the Force... and the Force, in turn, influenced the very mechanism that supplied energy for the cycle and growth of every living thing. Symbiosis. Had the midi-chlorians in the Jedi functioned differently to the general populace, allowing them to manipulate the energy? There were various disorders caused by a mutation in the molecule that encoded the genetic instructions for the development and function of the midi-chlorians. Could the Jedi have had a similar mutation: one that augmented, rather than damaged, the cells?

Tarja had no doubt that the answers lay in this medical information the Rebel Alliance had provided her with, but she didn't have time to search through it now.

She did, however, have a hunch: the beginnings of a theory on Skywalker's condition. Luke had been barely responsive when she first treated him. After only a few hours on dialysis, he had been able to open his eyes and operate the medibed controls.

What if Vader was only partly correct? It would explain the inconclusive results to the neuro-spinal disconnection tests. What if, initially, Luke's nervous system had, indeed, been stunned… but then the spore infestation had taken over? The spores had spread through his blood, damaging the midi-chlorians and cutting him off from the Force.

Muscle-weakness and neurological impairment were symptoms of Spore Lung, although neither normally manifest as quickly as they had done in Skywalker. However, with the spores preventing the midi-chlorians' access to the Force in someone who had to be finely tuned to it...

"Reference," she began, "Spore Lung. Search both documents for symptoms of Spore Lung in Jedi."

Data appeared, scrolling across the screen. Tarja began reading, and then she grinned. Both patients had shown the onset of symptoms far faster than was normally indicated. Neither had been as severe as Skywalker, but neither had been involved in a catastrophic impact that could have shocked their nervous system.

She pushed herself to her feet, heading for the hyper-atmospheric chambers. Now to test her theory.

oo0oo

Music was playing, softly: slow, lilting and beautiful. Drifting in the warm darkness of semi-wakefulness, Luke listened to it, trying to ignore the dull ache in his side. He didn’t want to wake up. He wasn’t ready to wake up. He wanted to stay where he was…

“Luke?”

 _Ignore them_ , he told himself. _They’ll go away_.

“Luke?”

 _Can’t hear you… Can’t hear you… La la-la la la_ …

“Luke? Can you hear me?”

 _Nope… Go away… Can’t hear you… La la la_ …

Something sharp pricked the middle finger of his left hand. He pulled his hand away, swearing, opening his eyes. Then he frowned, looking up at the roof, wondering why it was so close to him.

“Luke… You’re in a hyper-atmospheric chamber. You were injured. Do you remember?”

Anxiety and dread flooded in. He remembered. He remembered everything. He turned his head to look towards the voice… and realised that something was different. The feeling of being smothered; of being trapped inside his body; of being too exhausted to move: was gone. He lay for a moment, looking at Tarja Karsaar, wiggling his fingers and toes. He was still exhausted, but the all-encompassing lethargy no longer restrained him.

The Force, though… He still couldn’t feel the Force…

Tarja was smiling at him. “Luke… How are you doing in there?”

He swallowed on a dry throat, then managed, “Okay…”

She glanced away then looked back at him, telling him, “Derlin is safe. So is Antilles. Klivian will be moved shortly. And I’m working on getting you out of there, but we can’t move you until the spores in your blood are dead. Do you remember the spores?”

Luke thought for a moment, then took a breath, offering, “Twenty-six hours…”

She nodded, “That’s right. Vader won't move you before then…”

Panic flared, tightening in his chest. “Vader? Here?”

She nodded again. “Landed eight hours ago. He knew what was ailing you, too. Said it was specific to the Jedi, that he’d seen it before, that your nervous system was stunned by the crash. It ain’t life-threatening, but it’ll take time for you to recover.”

The dread receded in the face of her words. He’d recover. The Force wasn’t lost to him permanently… He laughed in relief: a deep giggle of elation that bubbled up from his chest.

“He is awake?”

The deep, resonating voice cut through the euphoria, bringing Luke back to the ground, hard. Reality reasserted itself. He was trapped: helpless. Yet again he was cornered… and this time he had nowhere to go… This time, Vader would simply drag him away…

“My… my Lord,” Tarja stammered, mind racing. “Skywalker is conscious… but… in distress…” she tried.

Vader could hear it. The beep of the heart monitor fluttered fast and erratic. Alarms chimed softly in warning. Conflicting emotions pushed Vader forward, towards his son: concern, apprehension, anticipation… And still there was no sense of the boy through the Force.

Tarja retreated a few steps as Vader advanced on her. Then she held her ground, remembering that she had left Antilles alone and he had been dragged from his sick-bed by Colonel Vyre. “My Lord,” she attempted.

Vader ignored her, his attention fixed inside the hyper-atmospheric chamber. Anxious, blue eyes stared back at him.

Trying and failing to fight down the panic, Luke gaped at the black mask above him. It was over. Vader had him.

_I am your father! Your destiny lies with me… Obi-wan knew this to be true._

He fought to breathe. His heart hammered, unevenly, in his chest. A sweep of heat flooded up through his body. Nausea curdled in his empty stomach. Sweat erupted on his skin, bathing his face and chest, soaking into his pants.

_Obi-wan's apprentice... a powerful Jedi was he..._

The words echoed in his mind, drowning out memories of Bespin, pouring ice on the heat that burned through his body. The crushing restriction in his chest eased. Grasping hold of memories of Dagobah, he focussed on them, on his training with the Jedi Master. He shivered, dragging in a deep breath.

 _“Fear... the Dark Side of the Force... Consume you it will, as it did Obi-wan's apprentice,”_ Yoda had warned him. _“If you choose the quick and easy path, as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil.”_

He dragged in a second breath.

_Mind what you have learned. Save you it can._

Luke took a third, deep breath... and held it. Closing his eyes, he breathed out slowly, as Yoda had taught him. The rush of blood in his ears was already lessening, his heart settling into a less frantic rhythm. He remembered that he was not alone. Tarja Karsaar was out there, standing right behind Vader. Major Toryn Farr was out there somewhere, too, with a strike team.

He opened his eyes, looking at Vader, at the instrument of malevolence his Father had become.

The Lord Darth Vader looked back into the calm, composed, blue eyes of his son. Pride swelled, as it had done on Bespin. The Force was lost to the boy, and yet he still conducted himself with the strength and composure of a Jedi knight.

Stepping back, turning away, Vader moved towards the door. “Specialist Karsaar!” he ordered. “You will come with me.”


	17. Mission Abort + 27hrs

_Mission Abort + 27hrs_

_16:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

TARJA KARSAAR GAPED AT VADER, not quite sure that she had heard him correctly, wondering if this was some sort of test. “My Lord,” she tried. “I don’t understand…”

Vader’s mask looked back at her. “There is nothing to understand. You have your orders.”

“My Lord,” she tried again, floundering in the face of the enormity of those orders. No matter what happened now, her life as a Medical Specialist on Vaaljajord was over. She had thought her re-assignment as Skywalker's physician was only temporary, but Vader was sending her into the field. Anxiety twisted in her stomach. “Forgive me,” she began. “I have little experience in operational tasking. My remit in Malhördhem was limited to surveillance and data acquisition. I… I have no idea how to plan or implement such…”

“You will have no need to plan the extraction,” Vader interrupted. “If the Rebels don’t do it for you, Colonel Vyre will see to it. However, the Rebels know their people are here. They are almost certainly planning a rescue attempt. You need only assist in that attempt. You have already gained the trust of the Rebel seditionists,” he reminded her. “And Skywalker is no longer comatose. He will furnish you with the information you require to contact the Rebel Alliance.”

Tarja considered that, feeling the ground firming up beneath her again. No longer out of her depth, she examined her options then pushed her luck. “I request that the other pilot, Derek Klivian, is also transferred to my custody. Returning both pilots to Rebel lines will make the rescue more credible.”

“Request," Vader told her, "granted.” Then he turned, striding out of the office into the corridor beyond. The stormtroopers at the door turned on their heels and fell into step behind him, following him.

Tarja looked at the closing door then sank into her seat, running everything through in her mind. Colonel Vyre was to work with her. She was to liaise with the Rebels; get Skywalker, and now Klivian, back to Rebel lines. She was to stay close to Skywalker, nurse him back to health. Once he was almost fully recovered she was to contact Vyre and wait for further instructions. Failing that, she was to get Skywalker to Coruscant and contact Vader.

 _Tusken One Aurek_ : the identification authorisation that no Imperial would question.

Conflicting emotions roiled within her. This was not what she had envisioned.

The Rebel Alliance threatened to tear the Galaxy apart in civil war. Without the authority and scrutiny of the Imperial military, criminals like the Hutts and the Diazez would increase their power. The New Republic would never be able to exert its authority.

She believed, passionately, in the Empire... but the Emperor's dream of a safe and secure society would start to fall apart if it continued to be bought by fear and torture. She could not in all conscience enable a culture where sadistic bullies were allowed to abuse their position.

And she was being ordered to keep a young man safe, only to deliver him into...

She took a deep breath, pushing any misgivings aside. She had given her word to Per Alvessen and Shawn Valdez that she would do everything she could to protect the Rebels. She would focus on that for the moment: get Luke and Hobbie back to safety. Only then would she give any further consideration to the position she was in.

Vader had been closer to the truth than he knew: the Rebels were working on a rescue plan. She was part of it. Now, however, she had no need to worry about trying to hide the preparations being made to conceal Luke and Hobbie.

Hobbie…

She couldn’t wait much longer to get him into surgery. She had tried everything she could, but the damage to the bone was too severe. She was going to have to remove another section.

Luke, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. 

She reached for her comlink. "Ceetoo, inform Artoo that the pressure therapy is working. The patient is now responsive and I need a second opinion, on-site. I also need the schedule on the new equipment to be brought forward. I require it as soon as possible."

"Contacting Artoo now, Specialist Karsaar," the droid's lilting tones confirmed.

Tarja pushed herself to her feet and headed out of her office, turning towards the room she planned to use to conceal the two Rebel pilots. It was a treatment area towards the back of the clinic. It would be partitioned off from the corridor by holoprojectors supplied by the Rebels.

The area was normally only used during the logging season. Logging was dangerous work, but to protect the precious Daemor trees it was historically done by hand. The best syrup-producing trees took three generations to season. They were too prized to trust droids to fell the trees surrounding them. There were another few weeks before the season began and this area started filling with injured loggers. It was more than enough time.

She needed the holoprojectors now. She needed to move Hobbie before Vader changed his mind.

Turning, she headed back down the corridor, making for the hyper-atmospheric chambers and Skywalker. She moved across the room, checking the medical data on the screens before turning her attention towards the young man inside.

"Luke?"

The blond pilot remained still. "Luke, I'm alone," she told him.

His head turned towards her and the blue eyes opened. She smiled at him. "Derlin is safe," she assured him, repeating what she had been trying to tell him when Vader had interrupted. "So is Wedge. Hobbie will be moved to safety, shortly. You'll be moved beside Hobbie once the pressure cycle is done. You'll be moved before Vader can touch you. Do you understand?"

He looked at her, and then swallowed. "Yes."

She glanced towards the door then looked back at him. "Luke, I'm running blind, medically, but I think Vader's only partly right about what's ailing you. The ship crashing probably did cause a neuro-spinal disconnection that's specific to the Jedi... but I reckon there's more to your coma than that. The spores destroy cells in the body. I reckon the biology of those cells are different in the Jedi. So when the cells died... that might have cut you off from the Force. We're eliminating the spores, now, and your cells are healing. I'd lay credits on your recovery being directly related to the eradication of the spores."

Luke swallowed, saying nothing for a moment, trying to understand everything she had just said. Finally, he asked, "So when the spores are gone... I'll be able to sense the Force, again?"

She smiled. "I reckon so. Now," she went on, "rest! Your people are close. You're safe. You have my word."

Luke closed his eyes, exhausted but reassured. It was a weary exhaustion, though. It wasn't the heavy, restricting lethargy that had weighed down on him since the crash. It took an effort, but he could move his fingers and toes. He could move his head. He could speak. He was no longer trapped in his own body. He was no longer helpless and waiting for Vader to drag him away...

 _It is your destiny_ …

Luke drew in a breath, pushing away the emotion before breathing out slowly; guiding himself into one of the meditations he had learned from Yoda.

_Mind what you have learned. Save you it can._

An image rose up: of the little Jedi Master, standing on the muddy bank of the swamp, gently settling the X-wing onto the ground. And then another image swept in: more powerful, more disturbing.

_I am your father!_

Luke gasped in a breath, losing track of the meditation. The words had shredded his world. Even as he had denied him, he had known they were true… because the Dark Side had shown him the truth in the cave on Dagobah.

On Cloud City, with Vader looming above him, everything he had seen in the oppressive darkness of the cave had suddenly made sense. It hadn't been his face within the mask, it had been his father's.

 _A young Jedi named Darth Vader... He betrayed and murdered your father_.

Obi-Wan had lied to him. Yoda had lied by omission. The Dark Side hadn’t been testing him in the cave, it had been exposing their dishonesty. The realisation had shaken him, shattering his faith in the two Jedi. The betrayal had kept him away from Dagobah after Bespin. Instead, he had thrown himself into the Rebel Alliance cause; volunteering for mission after mission; leaving Chewbacca and Lando to search for Han; doing everything he could to avoid dwelling on the awful truth: Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader.

What had turned his father to the Dark Side?

Had it been lust for power? Had the Emperor made promises of influence and authority to his father: assurances of a senior position within his council? Had that lured Anakin Skywalker away from the path of the Jedi?

_You can destroy the Emperor! He has foreseen this!_

Vader's words swept back into his mind and Luke took in a deep breath of horror. How long had the Emperor anticipated in his own destruction? Had he already foreseen it two decades before? Was that why the Jedi had been all but wiped out? Was it possible that Anakin Skywalker had allowed himself to be seduced by the Dark Side in order to protect his family from the genocide?

Luke swallowed down emotion, mind reeling.

What about his mother? He knew nothing of her. He had no idea who she was, what had happened to her, or even what she looked like. All Beru had ever told him was that she had loved him with all her heart and had very much wanted to be with him. Had she left him safe with Beru and Owen, to go to search for Anakin? Had she died on Coruscant during the attack on the Jedi temple? Could she still be alive somewhere, hiding?

Had Vader killed her? Had he killed the woman he loved?

Grief welled up and Luke took a deep, steadying breath.

And then another, devastating thought occurred to him. What if Vader was lying? What if Vader wasn’t Anakin Skywalker? What if Vader had killed his mother because he had loved her, but she had loved Anakin Skywalker… or had chosen Anakin over him…?

Was it possible that the vision in the Dagobah cave had been a lure after all? Could Vader have seen an echo of the vision and used it to manipulate the situation, making him believe that Yoda and Ben had lied? Had Ben told the truth after all: Vader had betrayed and killed Anakin Skywalker…

Luke closed his eyes, groaning softly, thoughts whirling.

There was only one place that he would find those answers. He had avoided returning to Dagobah for too long. He had to go back and confront Yoda. He had to go back and find out the truth.

oo0oo

“Your Highness?”

Leia glanced at Threepio, holding her hand up, telling him, “In a moment, Threepio…” Then she turned her attention back to the two special forces sergeants: Lynk Comdhail and Meleen Arisii. “Continue…”

“We don’t believe a diversion, alone, will work,” Arisii told her. “Vader has his own stormtroopers guarding Skywalker, and we doubt they’ll be fooled by simple misdirection. For this to work, we need to sever their communications at exactly the same time as the shooting begins.”

“We need to go dark,” Comdhail finished.

Shawn Valdez looked at them. “Magflux charge?”

“No!” Leia told them. “Absolutely not!” A magflux charge would kill everything with electronic circuitry that wasn’t shielded. It wouldn’t just leave the Imperials deaf and blind, it would cripple the Rebel contingent, too. More importantly, they didn’t have a magflux charge on-board, nor was it designed to be deployed on the ground. They’d have to call in a bomber squadron to run the gauntlet of an Imperial Star Destroyer.

“The medical centre is shielded,” Arisii countered. “And they have a back-up power for when the main grid goes down. So does the Sheriff’s bureau.”

“The B-wing that drops the charge won’t be shielded,” Leia argued. “If they’re blockaded by TIEs in the atmosphere and don’t reach altitude before the charge detonates, we will have more pilots within reach of the Empire.”

“If X-wings are deployed to keep the TIEs busy above planet,” Arisii reassured, “they’d shield the B-wing run…”

“We need to go dark, Your Highness,” Comdhail repeated. “We need to kill the lights in the medcentre, too. Artoo can do that through the protocol droid at reception.”

Leia took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The diplomat in her was reticent. They had no idea how badly a magflux charge would affect Malhördhem. If things went wrong, they could be driving sympathy into the arms of the Empire.

The two sergeants were right, however. Making a diversionary attack on the med centre, in daylight, would be suicidal. The Empire had to suspect that a rescue attempt would be made. Vader would be waiting for it, planning for it… and the only thing the strike force had on their side was the element of confusion. Floundering in silence, unable to receive orders, Vader’s troops were vulnerable.

It was the only way they would be able to move Luke and Derek Klivian into hiding without decimating the Special Forces teams.

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Very well. Send it up the line."

Comdhail and Arisii both moved, walking towards the flight deck. Leia exchanged a long look with Valdez, then turned to the protocol droid, who still waited patiently a few feet away. "What is it, Threepio?"

“Your Highness, Artoo Detoo reports that Specialist Karsaar requests someone’s presence in the medical centre. The pressure therapy is having the desired effect and Master Luke is responsive.”

Relief flowed though Leia and a smile pulled at her lips.

“Specialist Karsaar also requests that the schedule on the new equipment be brought forward,” Threepio continued.

“Must be the holoprojectors,” Shawn Valdez offered, confirming, “They’re ready to go. I'll take them over now.”

Leia desperately wanted to be the one to go to the medical centre. She wanted to see Luke: needed to reassure herself, with her own eyes, that he was recovering. But while the Ubese biohelmet allowed her to move around, unrecognised, it could also cause problems if anyone heard her speaking Standard. Both Shawn Valdez and Toryn Farr were already known to the medical specialist, however.

Pushing her emotions firmly back behind the curtain of duty, Leia told Valdez, “Do that. And see what else she needs.”

He nodded to her, turning on his heel and heading across the living area into the interior of the ship.

“Your Highness!”

Leia turned, again, looking past Threepio to where Meleen Arisii stood in the door of the flight deck. “Trouble!” Arisii told her. “Colonel Vyre heading this way… alone…”

Irritation pushing through her, Leia swore. “What does that man want now?”

Arisii shrugged but suggested, deadpan, “He’s alone. We could drag him in and take him down.”

The thought appealed to Leia as much as it obviously did to Arisii and she laughed: a short snort of malevolence. “As tempting as that sounds," she began, "he'd only find his way back from beyond to haunt us. Throw me my hat then get Farr. I’ll keep him busy until she arrives.”

She caught the biohelmet as Arisii lobbed it to her, putting it over her head and locking it into place. Making her way to the ramp, she paused for a moment at the open weapons locker, grasping a blaster rifle and pulling it free of the clips. Rifle held loosely in one hand, she made her way down the ramp, standing at the bottom, watching Colonel Marek Vyre walk the last few feet to the ship.

Vyre pushed down a rush of irritation as he saw the Ubese bounty hunter. He'd much rather deal with Farn or her First Mate. The Ubese didn’t even speak Standard. How was he supposed to make it understand what he wanted?

He had little time for bounty hunters. In his experience, they were unreliable: their presence disruptive. However, Vader’s unspoken orders had been quite clear: _You limit your resources. They have their uses._

The hunters were operating under Vader’s direct authority. If the anticipated Rebel rescue failed, or never materialised, he could use the bounty hunters to remove Skywalker from Malhördhem and take him back to Rebel lines.

He reached the ship. “I will speak with Farn.”

Leia said nothing for a long moment, simply looking at him. Then, as Vyre opened his mouth to speak again, she told him, “You… wait.”

Vyre quirked an eyebrow. So, it did speak Standard, or what passed as Standard. Biting back an acerbic response, he gave the Ubese hunter a cold smile. “Tell Farn that I am here.”

“She knows you’re here!” Farn’s voice announced from the top of the ramp. “And if you’re here to beat up Antilles, again,” she continued, walking down towards him, “I’m afraid he’s still unconscious. And I’m not sure I want to let you see him. You might kill him this time, and he’s worth more to me alive.” She stopped beside the Ubese, hooking her thumbs into her belt, asking bluntly, “What do you want?”

Vyre gave her a disarming smile. “I wish to engage your services.”

Farn laughed at him. Vyre allowed her the laughter.

Shaking her head, she told him, “I’m sorry. We don’t work for the Empire. We work for Lord Vader.”

Vyre's smile widened. “Oh, I am aware of that," he countered. "That is why I am here. You see, Lord Vader has done me the honour of reassigning me. I am now, also, under his direct authority.”

That wiped the laughter from Farn’s face. Beside her, the Ubese hunter stiffened.

“You’ll forgive me,” Farn replied, slowly, “if I confirm that personally with Lord Vader.”

“You’ll forgive me,” Vyre answered, “but _Tusken One Aurek_ is the only confirmation you will need.” He saw the uncertainty flash across her face and knew that he had her. "I may require passage for three people. Be ready to leave at short notice."

Toryn looked at the Imperial Colonel for a long moment, knowing there was nothing she could do but agree. Three people... but what three people? What was Vader up to?

"We'll be ready, Colonel," she told Vyre, then asked, "Are there any special requirements apart from the short notice?"

"You will be informed if there are," Vyre confirmed. Then he turned on his heel, walking away across the duracrete.

Neither Leia nor Toryn moved, watching the Colonel's retreating back. "What," Toryn asked softly once she was sure Vyre was out of earshot, "the hells was that?"

Leia turned, hefting her blaster rifle onto her shoulder. "That was either a trap," she offered, walking back up the ramp, "or Vyre trying to save his hide."

It didn't feel like a trap. There was no sense of the uneasy foreboding that normally warned her that things weren't right, or weren't what they seemed to be. She had ignored that tight apprehension on Bespin, putting it down to her blossoming feelings for Han: trusting his judgement and his friendship with Lando. Not that it would have changed anything.

_They arrived right before you did…_

Faced with betraying a friend, or risking the lives of everyone on Bespin, Lando had made the only possible choice.

So, this wasn’t a trap. But… there was something…

_Vader has done me the honour of reassigning me._

“Why?” Leia said out loud.

“Why is he trying to save his hide?” Toryn asked.

“No. Why has Vader reassigned him?” She stopped, turning to look at Toryn. “And is it Vyre who needs the ship… or is it Vader?"

Toryn frowned. “I’m not following...”

Leia glanced around then motioned to Toryn to move inside the ship. She stopped at the top of the ramp, taking her respiration helmet off before turning to Farr. “Vyre said he might need passage for three people… What if that’s Luke, Tarja Karsaar and Vader?”

Toryn’s frown deepened. “But… Vader has a Star Destroyer up there! Why would he risk using bounty hunters?”

“He risked it at Bespin,” Leia reminded her. “He has to know that the Alliance would try a rescue attempt. And while the Alliance is attacking the Star Destroyer…”

“…Vader’s slipping away with Commander Skywalker in a small, unmarked ship,” Toryn finished.

“Exactly!”

“Or,” Toryn suggested, “it _is_ Vyre who wants the ship. Maybe Vader’s tasked him to escort Commander Skywalker off Vaaljajord. With Vader still here, the Alliance wouldn’t suspect that Skywalker had been flown out.”

“Or perhaps,” Shawn Valdez put in, “Vyre’s pulling a fast one.”

Leia and Toryn turned, looking at the Captain as he walked towards them, a satchel slung over his shoulder. “I heard what you were saying,” he told them. “Vyre wants us to carry some passengers and he used one of Vader’s authorisations to secure our loyalty?”

“Yes,” Leia confirmed.

“Except that Vyre’s discredited,” Valdez reminded them. “He’s lost Derlin. His career is probably over, possibly even his life. Vader doesn’t take kindly to failure. And,” he went on, “why would Vader trust an unreliable officer with someone as important as Skywalker? Vader’s personal authorisation codes wouldn’t be difficult for an ISB officer to get a hold of, not when he knows bounty hunters loyal to Vader would accept it without question.”

“You think he’s making contingency plans to save his own skin?” Toryn asked.

“Makes sense,” Valdez confirmed. “He’s a bastard. He’s not an idiot.”

"No..." Leia said slowly, shaking her head. Valdez had made some very plausible points, but the explanation didn't feel right. "It's certainly something we should plan for, but... if Vader was going to make an example of Vyre, he would have done it by now. And… there's something else going on. I'm not sure what, but there's more to this... _Tusken_ is too much of a coincidence to be some random code that Vyre managed to find."

"Tusken?" Valdez asked.

"The authorisation code Vyre gave us," Farr supplied. "Tusken One Aurek."

“The Tusken people are found only on Tatooine,” Leia told him. “Luke is from Tatooine.”

Shawn Valdez considered that for a long moment. The Princess was right: it was more than just coincidence. It was worryingly more than coincidence. He looked at Leia. "We can't allow Vader to take Commander Skywalker..."

Anger and fear flared at the reminder of their earlier conversation, but Leia kept it tightly under control. No matter what argument Valdez made, no matter how much her head agreed with his conclusions, the concept of Luke dying at the hands of the Rebel Alliance was unthinkable. "That's why you're giving those holoprojectors to Tarja Karsaar."

oo0oo

Mayor Agnessa Gunnistsaar stood beside Deputy Sig Arnassen in the main office of the jailhouse. Arms crossed, she considered the security feed from the anchorage. At her side, Sig’s brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line as he watched Colonel Vyre walked across the duracreet, away from the Rebel ship.

“What is he up to?” Agnessa asked.

Sigurd shrugged, glancing down at her. She had arrived not long before, sweeping into the jailhouse, looking for an update. She had taken one look at the Sheriff and ordered her to rest. Gunnistsaar had succeeded where Ash's Deputies had failed, and the Sheriff was currently snoring gently on a cot in one of the cells.

“Whatever it is, Mayor, it ain’t good…” Sig offered. He paused, chewing on the inside of his lip for a moment before continuing, “Think I’ll wander across to the anchorage and have me a conversation with the bounty hunters.”

Agnessa looked at him. “Is that wise?"

Knowing that the Mayor was still unaware that the bounty hunters were actually Rebel personnel, Sig gave her a lopsided smile. "The first mate is decent enough. Had a civilised conversation with him when they arrived. And Vyre’s damaged their bounty: reckon they’ll be less than happy with him.”

Agnessa considered that for a moment, then she nodded, ordering, “Do it… but be careful! And, if you all have no objection, I’ll stay here until the Sheriff wakes.”

Sigurd hesitated. Then he told her, “Ma’am, you are welcome to stay… but if you do, you might lose all plausible deniability.”

Agnessa blinked, her eyes going wide in surprise as she realised what he alluded to. She opened her mouth to ask how many of the Deputies were sympathetic to the resistance… then closed it.

Only a few hours before she had promised the Rebel Alliance whatever help it needed, while staying out of the way and allowing the Empire to believe she was nothing more than an ineffectual bureaucrat. She had just shown Lord Vader that she was more than that, twisting what she knew of the situation to counter his accusations of sedition with a clear-cut and plausible rebuttal.

If she stayed now, she might see too much: glean some piece of information that, as Mayor, she should have no way of knowing. If her attention wavered, if she slipped up and revealed that information to Vyre or Vader, it would blow everything apart. The whole town would be under a suspicion that she would have no way of countering…

_The Emperor showed leniency to Vaaljajord once. He will not show such leniency again!_

Agnessa stepped back, giving Deputy Arnassen a nod of acknowledgment. “A point well made,” she told him. “In which case I will be in my office. Keep me up to date…. And let me know when the Sheriff wakes?”

Sigurd smiled at her, assuring, “Yes, Ma’am.”


	18. Mission Abort + 32hrs

_Mission Abort + 32hrs_

_22:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

TARJA KARSAAR, SENIOR MEDICAL SPECIALIST for the Malhördhem Medical Centre, sank into the chair in her office, rubbing a hand across her face in a vain attempt to wipe the fatigue from her eyes. It had taken almost five hours, but indications were encouraging. She had managed to save most of what was left of Hobbie Klivian’s arm.

“You should rest, Specialist,” a soft voice commented.

Tarja looked up, quirking an eyebrow at the figure lounging in the doorway. Toryn Farr moved towards her and sat down opposite her, across the desk. “You asked for a second opinion,” Toryn told her, softly. “We sent you one, but you were already in surgery.”

“Things moved faster than I expected,” Tarja apologised.

Toryn nodded, putting a satchel on the desk. “We appreciated that… but we didn’t want to leave equipment lying around. When we got the heads-up that you were winding down in surgery, I wandered back over with it.”

Tarja looked at the satchel, surmising that it held the holoprojectors. Then she looked up at Toryn. Things had changed in the few hours since her discussion with Shawn Valdez, Per and the others at Lady Valda’s. She hadn’t dared risk an unsecured comlink to let the Rebels know, however. Now she found herself wondering where to start.

Finally, she took a deep breath and began, “The situation has evolved…”

Toryn’s stomach lurched. “Hobbie?”

Tarja smiled, shaking her head, “He’s in recovery and holding his own,” she told Toryn. “There was some damage to his heart, but we’ve repaired that. And I was able to save more than I expected of his arm. No… This concerns… my other patient…” She pushed herself to her feet, moving around the desk to perch on the edge of it, close to the Rebel officer and still facing the door. “You are aware that I’ve been reassigned?” she asked, quietly.

“We are,” Farr confirmed.

“I’ve been tasked to get Skywalker back to Rebel lines.”

Stunned, Toryn Farr blinked then opened her mouth, closing it again without saying a word, her mind reeling. Vader had hunted Skywalker across half the galaxy, and now that he had him, he was letting him go? It made no sense…

“I pushed for Klivian to be released into my custody, too,” Tarja went on. “Lord Vader agreed.”

Toryn looked at her. That made no sense, either, although it did go a long way to explaining the visit they’d had from Vyre. But why would Vader let them go: aid their escape?

And then she remembered that this would not be the first time Vader had manipulated the escape of Rebel personnel. The _Millennium Falcon_ had been allowed to escape the Death Star so that it could be followed to Yavin. And, as with Yavin, forewarned was forearmed. They could factor it in to their response, tailor the mission around it.

“What, exactly, did Vader tell you?” she asked.

Tarja considered her answer carefully. She may not agree with the Tarkin Doctrine, she might not agree that the ends always justified the means, but she was still an Imperial officer. She was willing to aid the Rebels in rescuing their pilots, but her loyalty lay with the Empire.

Valdez had warned her of the risks of being a double agent. It was a risk she was willing to take, but only so far. She had a duty to protect fellow Imperial officers. And, no matter what her personal opinion was of Vyre, he was an Imperial officer. Bringing him into the equation, telling Farr the whole truth, would potentially compromise his mission.

She knew she was walking a fine line, knew that she was playing a dangerous game, but it was a game she had chosen to involve herself in the moment she had handed the Rebels over to Vyre.

“He believes I have already gained the trust of the Rebels because I treated the injured,” she began. “He told me that I had new orders: that I was to accompany Skywalker back to Rebel lines. He said that the Rebels knew that their people were here, and were almost certainly planning a rescue attempt and that Skywalker would know how to contact the Rebel Alliance.”

Toryn took that in. Different possibilities were beginning to open up, all of them viable: such as the possibility that Vyre really was working for Vader after all. That made complete sense now. An apparently discredited Imperial officer made a perfect lure for the Alliance to bite, especially if he was bringing in Alliance personnel.

And suddenly it all began to fall into place. Skywalker, comatose, was useless to the Empire. As a means of infiltrating the Alliance, however, he was an ideal conveyance. Vyre, as an ISB officer, was uniquely placed to feed the Alliance just enough information to make them trust him without giving them anything important. And once his defection was believed, he could wreck the Alliance from the inside.

Or he could try. Toryn had an uneasy feeling that Vyre’s body was destined to be found behind a wall of crates in a dark corner of an Alliance hangar.

Pulling her thoughts back to the holoprojectors in front of her, she nodded at Tarja, telling her, “Well, we shouldn’t disappoint... so, let’s get that false wall set up.”

Tarja nodded, pushing herself to her feet. “Follow me.”

oo0oo

Wes Janson paused at the door of the briefing room. Then he took a deep breath, stepping inside, calling, “General on the deck!”

All conversation ceased. Pilots shot to their feet, standing to attention. Janson moved aside and General Carlist Rieekan walked past him, moving towards the briefing podium. Major Palo Torshan followed the General, stopping a few steps to Rieekan’s left.

Rieekan looked out around the ranks of faces in front of him, then nodded to Janson before ordering, “At ease.”

Janson relaxed his stance then walked across the floor to sit at the front of the room, beside Zev Senesca. Rieekan waited until all the pilots had settled then began. “By now you will all have seen the media streams about an Alliance ship going down on Vaaljajord. I regret to confirm that those reports are correct… and there have been casualties.”

The atmosphere in the room thickened. Zev glanced at Janson, but the other pilot looked resolutely ahead.

“Seven Rebel personnel were killed in the crash,” Rieekan continued. “I regret to inform you that Tarn Mison is among the dead.”

Janson swallowed, hard. The General had broken the news to him before the briefing, but it hadn’t softened the blow of hearing it a second time. Tarn had been with the squadron since just after Yavin and helped train most of the pilots here. Janson had got drunk with him and Wedge when they survived the attack on the Seinar shipyards but Hobbie and Luke had been posted missing. Tarn had been an escort for one of the first transports to escape Hoth… where Zev had been taken by the Imperials and mindwiped. Which had launched the Dendraali mission.

Janson swallowed again, bringing his attention back to Rieekan. The General had paused after delivering the news, but now he was continuing, “Reports that Rebel personnel have been taken into Imperial custody are, unfortunately, also true. Wedge Antilles has been removed from direct Imperial control, but Luke Skywalker and Derek Klivian are both seriously injured and under Imperial guard in a medical facility. However, in a little over fifteen hours we will have a window of opportunity.”

Rieekan felt the atmosphere in the room turn from despondency to cautious anticipation. Pride in his pilots’ professionalism swelled as he watched them shrug off their concern and grief, visibly transforming back into a fighting unit. “Major Torshan has the details,” he told them, stepping aside.

Palo Torshan nodded to Rieekan then moved to the podium, looking out at the pilots. He and Rieekan had carefully planned this briefing in order to protect both the Rebel personnel already on the ground, and the local resistance cell. The gathered pilots were about to be briefed on a diversion and extraction mission. The only pilot who would know the true facts of the assignment, would be the operation’s commander: Wes Janson.

“Both Skywalker and Klivian are receiving specialist treatment in the medical facility,” Torshan began. “That treatment will be complete in fifteen hours. At that time, contacts within the medical facility will be in a position to extract both of them.” Torshan paused, then continued, “The situation is complicated, both by the presence of Imperial personnel within the facility… and the _Executor_ in orbit around Vaaljajord.”

A soft murmur washed through the assembled pilots, again. Someone whistled softly. Before any of them could interrupt with questions, Torshan went on, “For the plan to work, we must sever the Imperial ability to communicate, both on the ground and with the _Executor_. That will involve the deployment of a magflux charge...”

Torshan keyed a switch on the podium and a three-dimensional holochart appeared between him and the pilots. It showed a planet, Vaaljajord, rotating slowly in space. “The _Home One_ will take you to a position a short jump-distance from Vaaljajord. From there, you will take the final jump, dropping out of hyperspace at two points.”

The points appeared on the holochart, along with a Star Destroyer highlighted in red. One jump point was on the far side of Vaaljajord, directly opposite the Star Destroyer and screened by the planet. The other was also on the far side of the planet but higher on the chart, just within line-of-sight of the Destroyer.

“The _Executor_ is in synchronised orbit above Malhördhem, the town where Skywalker and Klivian are being held. The main X-wing group will drop out of hyperspace here,” Torshan told them, indicating the higher jump point. “Your objective is to intercept whatever the _Executor_ throws at you, keep them busy, and prevent them from seeing the retrieval unit, who will drop in at this point,” he went on, indicating the lower location, “and descend towards Malhördhem.”

Torshan looked back at the pilots. “The retrieval unit will two comprise two B-wings, a shuttle and four T-65s as escort. It is imperative that the main, X-wing engagement prevents the _Executor’s_ TIEs from following the retrieval unit down into the Vaaljajord atmosphere.”

The holochart zoomed in closer to the planet. “The B-wings will begin their bombing run immediately, while the shuttle and T-65 escort hold back. The shuttle will only begin its descent towards Malhördhem in the moments before the detonation of the magflux charge. The X-wing escort will follow the shuttle down, engaging the Imperial ground-forces, giving covering fire to the shuttle.”

The holochart zoomed in, again, towards the town of Malhördhem. “The shuttle will land, here, outside the medical centre and remain on the ground for as long as possible, before getting the hell out.”

Torshan turned, looking at Wes Janson, “Lieutenant-Commander Janson?”

Wes stood up, “Sir?”

“You are in command of the mission. You will also be flying the shuttle,” Torshan told him, then warned, “If the magflux charge fails to fully disable both the Imperial communications and sensors, you could face heavy resistance. The final decision on landing the shuttle will be yours. If you deem it too risky, there is a fall-back plan in place.”

Janson took a deep breath, but nodded, confirming, “Understood, Sir.”

Shuttles had limited defensive capabilities. If they got into trouble, it was unlikely he’d be able to shoot his way out of it. Forewarned, however, was forearmed and with Luke and Wedge gone, there was only one other pilot he trusted to watch his back.

Well, maybe more than one…

“May I make recommendation for the X-wing escort?”

Torshan nodded. “Recommendations accepted, Lieutenant-Commander.”

“Senesca,” Janson told him without hesitation.

Sitting beside Janson, Zev clenched his jaw against a surge of emotion as Janson continued, “Geringho, Poole and Strome.”

“Wes,” Senesca muttered softly, looking up at him, “Are you sure?”

He’d not long been passed fit for flight. Only a few weeks before he had flown against the pilots who now surrounded him, secure in the transplanted belief that the Rebel Alliance would bring chaos and civil war to the galaxy, and that the only way to prevent it was to destroy them.

Janson thumped him on the shoulder, telling him, “Shut up. I’m sure!” Then he turned his attention back to Torshan. “I recommend Nor Freugh for command of the main X-wing unit.”

“Done!” Torshan told him. “Confer with Lieutenant Freugh and your X-wing escort, then present your recommendations to General Rieekan and myself within the hour. The mission parameters have been transferred to your datapads.”

oo0oo

Major Bren Derlin drifted awake to a nagging ache in his shoulder and the rumble of thunder. He tried to ignore it, listening instead to the soft conversation coming from his left: finally realising that it was a media broadcast.

_“… can see behind me, the main route into Malhördhem is being regulated by stormtroopers from the Ranveig garrison, here on Vaaljajord. Very few people are being allowed to enter and no-one is being allowed to leave. We also know that the restricted area is being patrolled by stormtroopers from the Ranveig garrison. However, unconfirmed reports are suggesting that Malhördhem, itself, is under the direct authority of one of the Emperor’s most trusted officers, the Lord Darth Vader, and that the elite 501 st unit is assisting the Malhördhem Sheriff Bureau. With the Star Destroyer Executor still in orbit directly above Malhördhem, that’s a very plausible situation. The Executor, of course, arrived this morning.”_

_“And do we have any further information on the crash, itself? Do we know how many, if any, of the Rebel terrorists survived?”_

_“Again, Freda, there is very little information available… but this area has been associated with an underground route to the Rebel Alliance, so the lack of information is not entirely unexpected. Rumours of a Rebel contact within Malhördhem have, apparently, persisted for the last few years. When we asked about it, both the Sheriff Bureau and Imperial authorities categorically denied the route’s existence. The Sheriff Bureau did confirm that a small number of malcontents, duped by the rumours, occasionally arrive in Malhördhem looking for the Rebel Alliance, but those individuals are detained and handed over to Imperial authorities. That information has been corroborated by the Imperial Governor’s office.”_

“Not being given any information must be driving those journalists nuts…” Derlin chuckled softly, opening his eyes.

Zånder Olgenssen looked up from the holovid image, grinning across the dimly-lit room at him. “And, this time, they don’t dare speculate,” the Deputy agreed, getting to his feet and moving over to the Major. “How you feeling?”

“Shoulder’s protesting,” Derlin confirmed as Olgenssen helped him sit up, “but not bad… How long have I been out?”

“About eight hours,” the Deputy supplied, checking the readouts on the dialysis unit attached to Derlin’s arm. “Your blood oxygen level’s good,” he told him. “You ain’t been coughing, neither. You hungry?”

Derlin’s stomach growled in response. Olgenssen heard it, just as another rumble of thunder began. He grinned. “We got rations and kaffin. Got some water, too…”

“Water,” Derlin told him. “What’s the situation?” he went on as the Deputy rummaged in the pack the Princess Leia had provided.

“It’s twenty-two-thirty hours local time,” Olgenssen supplied, handing over a ration pack and a flask of water. “Vader’s here. He over-ruled Vyre and re-instated the Sheriff; accepted your folks as bounty hunters and enlisted their aid to find you. Place is crawling with stormtroopers. Skywalker’s awake. Tarja’s trying to save Klivian’s arm. Antilles is aboard your people’s ship. Your other folks are still in the bordella…” He paused for a moment, considering, then finished, “Reckon that’s about it.”

Derlin had paused, water flask half way to his mouth. He blinked at Olgenssen then laughed softly, shaking his head. “I wish all my sit-reps were so succinct…”

The Deputy grinned at him, pulling another ration bar from the pack. “That’s the Sheriff’s training,” he supplied, ripping the pack open. “She ain’t interested in pleasantries when it comes to such stuff. She wants it straight down the line, no messing around.”

Derlin swallowed a mouthful of water, quirking an eyebrow. “Sounds like my sort of a woman.”

Olgenssen’s grin widened. “Well… I could put in a word…”

Derlin chuckled, shaking his head. “We need to get out of this alive, first.” Then he asked, “Any word from up the line?”

“Alliance Command?” Olgenssen asked. Mouth full of food, Derlin simply nodded. Olgenssen shook his head, “No… but there ain’t much of anything being said.”

Derlin swallowed the rations, “Makes sense, keeping the frequency quiet.”

Almost on cue, the comlink chirped. Olgenssen answered it.

“Open the door,” a voice ordered.

Olgenssen pushed himself to his feet, moving across to unlock the door. A wave of raucous laughter and drunken singing swept in as a figure slipped inside. The door slid closed, cutting off the noise.

Cara Dune pushed the hood back off her hair, grinning at Olgenssen. “Good evening, Deputy.”

Zånder grinned back at her, “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes…”

“If you could both stop the sweet-talking for a moment,” Derlin interrupted, good-naturedly, pushing himself to his feet.

“Yes, Sir,” Dune acknowledged. “Of course, Sir…” All frivolity disappeared as she slid a backpack off her shoulders. “I’m here to get you both out.”

“What’s the plan?” Zånder asked, glancing across at Derlin as he walked toward them.

Dune opened the pack, pulling out a cloak and handing it to Zånder. “There’s a party aboard the _Freedom Shade_ and you’re both invited.”

She handed a second cloak to Derlin. “The Princess Leia’s compliments, Major, and her apologies for not keeping you updated. That will be remedied once you’re aboard the _Shade_. Our friends from the bordella are outside with Major Valdez. They’re escorting us to the ship.”

Derlin simply nodded, knowing that there had to be more to the plan; knowing that he would be briefed on it when he got to the ship. Pulling the cloak around his shoulders, he turned, heading back over to where the pack lay on the floor, clearing the empty packaging into it. Zånder followed, scooping up the holovid projector and tucking it into a pocket, lifting the discarded wrappers beside it.

“Ready?” Derlin asked him as he straightened.

“Ready,” the Deputy confirmed.

Turning, they moved back towards Cara Dune. “Intel has a squad of 501st at the entry gate,” she warned them. “Valdez and Lady Valda will do all the talking.”

“Copied,” Derlin confirmed as Zånder acknowledged, “Understood.”

They stepped out of the opening door, into the raucous group of people outside. Shawn Valdez had just reached a particularly ribald part of a filthy song he was singing at the top of his voice. He nodded to them, slipped his arm around the cloaked figure at his side then moving towards the gate, still singing.

“May I have the pleasure?” a female voice asked Derlin. He turned, looking at the hooded figure who held out her arm to him, recognising her voice but unable to remember her name.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he told her. As he reached out to link his own with hers, the cloak slid back revealing the dialysis unit.

“Let’s keep that hidden,” she told him, moving to his other side. Taking the pack, she slipped her arm through his. “Are you in pain?” she asked after a moment as they followed after Valdez.

“I’ve been in worse shape,” he assured her, wryly. “My team have taken more punishment than me on this assignment.”

“And you feel their pain keenly…”

Derlin took a breath, to tell her that he was too focussed on getting them all out alive to feel their pain. Then said nothing as the group turned into the gate entrance and found their way blocked by a unit of stormtroopers, blasters levelled at them.

“Hello, there!” Valdez called out to them. “We’re having a party!”

He let Valda go, walking forward to stop in front of the trooper Commander. “One of these girls was a favourite of Olgenssen, the Deputy who freed Major Derlin,” he told the Commander softly. “We need to isolate her… let the Boss work on her.” He took a step back, finishing more loudly, “And we have a stash of Corellian Blue on the ship. Come and join us!”

Large, slow drops of rain began to fall. The stormtrooper Commander motioned to his troops, who lowered their blasters. “We’re on duty,” he told Valdez, curtly. “Enjoy your party.”

Valdez grinned at him, waving the crowd past the white-armoured troops, who moved aside. “Oh, we will!” he grinned at the Commander, voice almost drowned out by a rumble of thunder. “We will…”

Then he turned, walking after the group, starting another verse of the song.

The Commander watched them go. The thunder rolled again, and the heavens opened in a downpour. There were squeals from the group as they took off at a run for the ship, cloaks flapping behind them. The Commander took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, wiping the rain off his visor. Then he looked at his squad, shaking his head. “It’s going to be a long night…”

oo0oo

Luke slammed awake in semi-darkness to the sound of an explosion. Panic flaring, he lay, looking up at the inside of the hyper-atmospheric chamber, trying to listen over the sound of his heart as it hammered in his chest. The explosion rumbled on. A bright flash lit up the semi-darkness. Luke held his breath… then let it go in a soft sigh of relief as the deafening crescendo of thunder rolled out behind the lightning.

It was a storm: nothing more. The lightening flashed, again.

There had never been enough water on Tatooine to fuel a storm like this, but there had been sand storms. They had boiled up out of nowhere, scouring across the country in a wall of choking, blinding ferocity that could last for minutes, or hours. He and Biggs had once sheltered in caves near Beggar’s Canyon for a whole day while one raged outside.

He had always been able to sense the storms coming, though. Now, he could sense nothing.

It was disconcerting: being cut off from the Force. He’d not had the years of training that the Jedi had received before the Emperor’s genocide had wiped them out, but the Force was part of him. It had been with him all his life.

_For eight hundred years I have trained Jedi…_

Thoughts of the little Jedi master brought with it memories of what Yoda had told him of the Jedi order. In the days of the Old Republic, he would have been a Jedi Master by now. He would have been walking the halls of the Jedi temple as Yoda had; studying in the hush of the temple library. He would have been a guardian of peace and justice.

He would also have been taken from his family to be raised by the Jedi. He would never have met Biggs. He’d not have been nicknamed Wormie. He’d not have had a life on Tatooine. The thought of never knowing Beru and Owen cut deeply, hardening in his throat.

He understood, now, why Owen had found excuses to keep him on Tatooine and stop him going to the Academy. He understood, now, why his relationship with his gruff, slow-to-laugh, but loving Uncle had changed the moment he had first announced his intention to join the Academy.

Owen had become distant, taciturn, more domineering… because he had been afraid for him.

Owen had spent almost two decades protecting him: shielding him from Vader, and from the knowledge of who his father had become. It was why Owen had run Ben Kenobi off the farm. It was why Owen had shaken his head, time and time again, and dismissed any discussion of the Empire, or of the Rebellion, with a simple, “The Empire’s a long way from here. It won’t affect the harvest. Or the moisture vaporators…”

How much had Beru and Owen given up to protect him? Had they left everything they had known on Coruscant to smuggle him out of Vader’s reach as the Jedi Temple burned? Had they abandoned their dream of a less-harsh life in order to keep him safe? Or had they always lived on Tatooine?

Had they watched the newscasts of the Imperial ferocity and looked at the child playing on the floor, wondering what they had accepted into their lives?

Luke sighed, softly, swallowing down the sadness and grief. If they had ever doubted what he might become, they had never shown it. They had given him love and kindness and independence… only thwarting that freedom when he began to talk about the Academy.

If only they had told him the truth, they might have…

Luke took a deep breath, swallowing down another wash of grief, knowing that it was an empty probability. Even if he had left the farm and gone to Ben, trained as a Jedi, Leia would still have sent Artoo to look for the older Jedi. The droids would still have ended up on the farm. The Empire would still have traced them. And Owen and Beru would still have died.

As would Leia. She would have been executed. And the Death Star would have manoeuvred to destroy planet after planet until fear of its destructive capability stopped all dissent against the Empire and shattered the Rebel Alliance. And the first Ben or he would have known about it, was the disturbance in the Force as Alderaan died… and by then it would have been too late…

oo0oo

Vader stopped at the door of the medical room, staring at the hyper-atmospheric chamber, unsure of what he had sensed, wondering if he had imagined it. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind of emotion, reaching out through the Force. And there it was: barely perceptible, but there. The proximity to his son was all that allowed him to sense the tenuous shadow of grief and anger… but it was there.

Vader moved forward, towards the chamber. There was a brief allusion of fear… and then the presence of his son within the Force vanished completely.

Reaching the chamber, Vader looked at the still form inside. This time, the blue eyes did not open. This time Luke simply ignored his presence. Beneath the obsidian mask, Vader smiled at his son’s temerity. “Good!” he told Luke, softly. “You control your fear.”

The boy did not react. He lay still, his breathing measured and calm.

“Your condition improves,” Vader told him. “You cannot hide it. The Force returns to you. I sense your presence within it. And once you are recovered, once you have been released from this chamber, we will discuss your future… at my side…”

oo0oo

Secure within the confines of the _Freedom Shade_ , Bren Derlin stood at the door of the cabin where Wedge Antilles lay asleep on a berth. There was no sign of the trauma he’d endured at the hands of Colonel Marek Vyre, but a bacta compress had been placed over his nose and jaw. A dialysis unit was attached to his arm, too.

“How is he?” Derlin asked softly, remembering the defiance in Wedge’s eyes as he had tried to spit at Vyre.

“Wedge is going to be fine,” Leia assured him. “Specialist Karsaar is very good at what she does. His lungs are clear, the burns are healed, the bone density is almost normal, and the dialysis unit is keeping the spore infestation at bay until we can get you all back to Rebel lines.” She paused, then went on, “I’m more concerned about you than Wedge, right now.”

Derlin took a deep breath and then turned to look at her. “I slept off the stims,” he assured her.

Leia quirked an eyebrow. “I’m referring to the shoulder injury…”

He met her gaze but said nothing. She gave him a wry smile then went on, “Specialist Karsaar gave us comprehensive records of all medic treatment. Your name wasn’t on the list… and yet Deputy Olgenssen tells me that it’s bothering you…”

She held his gaze, daring him to deny it. Finally he sighed, his spine slumping slightly.

Leia relented, but only a little. Derlin was a career soldier, he was trained to deal with the rigours and stress of combat and espionage, but a lot had happened in the last thirty-two hours: more than anyone had any right to endure. She could order him to stand down, but she knew that he wouldn’t. He would be unable to let go until Luke and Hobbie were no longer in Imperial hands.

She needed him rested and thinking clearly, however. Of everyone here, he had the most insight into how best to utilise the Malhördhem resistance cell. He could also give them a profile on Colonel Marek Vyre.

“Every instinct is yelling at me to relieve you of duty on medical grounds,” Leia began.

Derlin reacted, opening his mouth to protest. Leia held up her hand, stopping him. “I’m not,” she assured him, “because we need you... but we need you rested and focussed. In less than fifteen hours the Alliance will mount a diversionary attack against the _Executor_ and Malhördhem, while the main business of getting Luke and Hobbie to safety takes place on the ground here. However… there are…” She trailed off, choosing her words carefully, finally finishing, “anomalies… to factor in and we need your insight for that.”

Derlin looked at her for a long moment. Then he turned, looking at Wedge Antilles. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Leia, finding a sardonic smile. “I could probably use a fresher…” he admitted.

Leia wrinkled her nose, pulling a face as she nodded, confirming, “I was too polite to say.”

That drew a chuckle from him and she looked back over her shoulder, calling, “Sergeant?” Turning back to Derlin, she told him, “Sergeant Arisii will check your shoulder and the dialysis unit. Then you can freshen up and get something to eat. I’ll brief you in an hour.”

He nodded, acknowledging, “Yes, Ma’am.” As she turned away, he asked, “Ma’am?”

Leia stopped, looking back at him.

“How did you get Antilles out?”

Leia gave him a smile, avoiding the question. “Freshen up, eat, and I’ll brief you in an hour.”

oo0oo

Toryn Farr ran a critical eye over the false wall as a droid manoeuvred some seating into place in front of it. Two stormtroopers had been stationed at the far end of the corridor, so Tarja Karsaar stood facing her, making it look as if the two were deep in conversation.

Finally happy with the way the wall was looking, content that no one could accidentally stumble through it with the row of seats in front of it, Toryn nodded. “I think we’re done…”

She and Tarja turned, walking down the corridor towards the stormtroopers. “I think it best to move Hobbie before… my other patient,” Tarja offered, softly.

“I think so, too,” Toryn agreed. “Can you do that alone?”

“Of course,” Tarja told her. “A medical droid moving a patient to a new room will not be questioned. And he’s been officially released into my care. Do you want me to contact you when it’s done?”

“No,” Toryn decided, “only contact us if something goes awry. Can you be ready to move the other patient at short notice?”

“Yes,” Tarja confirmed. “As I said before, he’s already showing signs of improvement. And even if the hyper-atmospheric cycle isn’t complete, a dialysis unit will keep the spores in check until we can get him into a chamber at one of your facilities.”

“The folks back home are already on that,” Toryn supplied. “And once we have the final confirmation, and the plans to get them there, we’ll let you know.”

They turned the corner into the main corridor. The black-cloaked figure of Darth Vader strode towards them. Toryn swore silently, fear curling through her gut. She pushed it down, turning to Tarja, telling her, “I’m here for medical supplies for Antilles.”

Tarja nodded, confirming, “Of course.”

Taking a deep breath, Toryn turned her attention to Vader, Colonel Marek Vyre’s smug grin sweeping up from her memory. This, she realised, was an opportunity she could not pass up. And it might answer, once and for all, whether or not Vyre was acting on his own accord and trying to save his own skin. Hooking her thumbs into her belt, she resolutely pushed down the tremor of trepidation and stood, waiting for Vader to reach her.

“My Lord,” she began.

He stopped, looking at her.

“My apologies but… I require clarification on a matter.”

“Which is?”

Toryn glanced at Tarja Karsaar then stepped closer to Vader. Voice quiet, she began, “It concerns Colonel Vyre and… Tusken…”

Vader regarded her through the visor, considering her partial use of the authorisation code he had supplied to both Vyre and Karsaar. Vyre, it appeared, had overcome his distaste at employing the resources of bounty hunters. His initial attitude towards them, however, had obviously fostered mistrust and that could not be allowed to continue. “The Colonel is to be afforded all assistance,” Vader ordered. “He is under my direct authorisation… As are you.”

Toryn inclined her head, acknowledging, “Understood.”

So, Vyre was acting on Vader’s orders. That both simplified and complicated the situation. Now they knew where Vyre was coming from, they could work two steps ahead of him. However, Vader was delivering Skywalker into their hands, just as he had delivered the _Falcon_ to Yavin. That was disconcerting. And with Vyre remaining a loyal, Imperial servant, they would have to manipulate the situation to protect Tarja Karsaar.

The web was getting more and more tangled.

“What of Derlin?” Vader asked.

Toryn lifted her head, looking at him, cursing silently. She had allowed herself to be distracted. In front of Vader she needed to be completely focussed or this could all end in disaster. “One of the girls from the bordella has a relationship with Sheriff Deputy Olgenssen,” she told Vader. “Valendiz has taken her to the _Freedom Shade_. I’m heading there now to question her.” She paused, then took a chance, finishing, “Colonel Vyre will attest to my methods.”

“Farn has requested my presence on the _Shade_ , Lord Vader,” Tarja put in, “for the prisoner, Antilles…”

“He’s worth more to me alive and he was injured during Vyre’s questioning.” She pushed away memories of Wedge crumpling into the stormtroopers’ grip, his face and chest covered in blood.

“Skywalker is stable, my Lord,” Tarja added. “His condition is improving. I have time to examine Antilles.”

Vader looked at her. If Vyre was planning to use the bounty hunters to take Luke off-planet, it would be advantageous for the medical specialist to be familiar with their ship. “Very well,” he dismissed, moving away from them down the corridor.


	19. Mission Abort + 33hrs

_Mission Abort + 33hrs_

_23:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

Sheriff Ashtor Svioisaar walked up the ramp onto the _Freedom Shade_ , Deputy Sigurd Arnassen at her back. She still felt woozy from the mind probe drug, but the overwhelming nausea had gone and she’d been able to keep some gerberry bake down. The sweet, sticky goodness was one of the best things she reckoned she’d ever tasted.

Laughter floated out of the main body of the ship towards her, but neither Bren Derlin nor the dark-haired woman who waited at the top of the ramp beside him, showed any sign of levity. The woman stepped forward, holding out her hand. “Sheriff Svioisaar,” she greeted, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Leia Organa…”

“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness,” Ash told her, shaking her hand warmly. “May I introduce Deputy Arnassen,” she went on.

Leia smiled at him. “I believe our arrival might have prevented your dinner with Beransa Olvensaar from being sabotaged by another Sheriff’s Deputy…”

Sig blinked in surprise, thrown for a moment by her insight, until he remembered that Derlin had been with Zånder when they’d spoken on the comm. He chuckled, shaking her hand. “Zånder Olgenssen has himself a fantastical imagination, Ma’am,” he assured her.

Leia’s smile widened and she laughed, softly, before continuing. “I think you both know Major Derlin.”

Ash nodded, looking at him. “We’ve had the pleasure…”

“You look better than the last time I saw you,” Derlin offered.

Ash gave him a small, tight smile. “The look on Vyre’s face when he realised you were gone, went a long ways to fixing the hurt. The look on his face when Lord Vader handed back my authority… that went a long ways more…”

“But you are recovered?” Leia asked.

Ash nodded, supplying, “I threw up some… had myself a long nap… but I’m ready to get back to business.” She paused then asked, “How’s Antilles? We saw Vyre take him.”

“I was just about to cover that with Major Derlin,” Leia told her, “and bring him up to speed. Will you join us? Your input and your insight would be most valuable…”

“It ain’t me you need,” Ash assured the Princess. “Per Alvessen is the one we all look to…”

“Sheriff,” Leia countered, gently, “I know Per’s place within the resistance, but we couldn’t risk bringing him here, and we need to limit communication with the bordella. Per simply doesn’t have access to the facilities or the resources he needs to make any informed decisions about this situation. We need your insight. Lady Valda is here, as is Specialist Karsaar, but they can’t supply the tactical and logistical information you can.”

Derlin watched the Sheriff as she took a deep breath and looked at her Deputy. Derlin had seen the look on her face before, on other resistance commanders who had suddenly found themselves part of something bigger: the Rebel Alliance. It was a look of uncertain hesitation at being asked to step up and take on a far greater responsibility. For Ash Svioisaar, however, the hesitation had as much to do with her reticence to usurp Per Alvessen’s authority as it had about any uncertainty in accepting greater responsibility. Per and Hetta were the resistance leaders in Malhördhem. They were respected, deferred to.

The medical specialist, Tarja Karsaar, had been excluded from the Vaaljajord Route because Per had refused to involve her. Even when it had become clear that Antilles, Klivian and Skywalker needed specialist medical treatment, no-one had challenged Per’s mandate. It had been the old man, himself, who had gone to Karsaar for help and brought her to the house.

Mutual respect and understanding was one of the corner stones on which the Alliance to Restore the Republic had been built: and it was something the Imperial machine would never understand. The Empire was erected on the foundation that everything was a commodity to be used, or to be discarded, or to be eradicated: all in the furtherance of absolute dominion.

Derlin’s father had foreseen the rise of the tyranny. “ _Without the Jedi to temper the appetite of Palpatine’s great, galactic Empire, there will be no stopping it. There will be no stopping him. Democracy is dead, despite Palpatine’s assurances to the contrary… and those fools watched it die in zealous ovation…_ ”

Scant months later, Galen Derlin was dead, executed by the Emperor’s assassins.

For every person murdered by the Imperial desire for unquestioned power, however, another stood up. Palpatine might not sleep so well at night if he ever looked beneath his self-assured arrogance and saw the true level of dissent being nurtured within the Empire.

“Reckon the Princess is right, Boss,” Sigurd Arnassen was telling Ash. “Per never moved without taking your council… or Chief Ulafssen’s. But right now, he ain’t got the whole picture. You need to stand with Valda and Karsaar and do what’s right for us, and for these folks…”

Ash took a breath, letting it out slowly. Then she nodded. They were right. This whole situation was evolving and changing and, as Sheriff, she was in the right place to pull all the information together and make an informed decision. “Head back to the Bureau,” she told Sigurd. “I’ll need eyes and ears there.”

“On my way,” he confirmed, turning to move down the ramp. Then he stopped, looking back at Derlin. “Keep Olgenssen out of trouble?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Derlin assured him with a small smile.

Sigurd nodded acknowledgement then turned and walked down the ramp and off of the ship.

oo0oo

Wedge Antilles opened his eyes, focussing slowly on the roof-plate above him.

“I wondered when you were finally going to wake up.”

Turning his head, Wedge looked towards the voice, smiling when he recognised the woman sitting in the chair beside him. She swung her legs down from their perch on the edge of the cot-side shelf and sat up, quirking an eyebrow at him. “How are you feeling?”

“I hurt,” Wedge rasped. His throat ached.

“The medical specialist says you’re going to be fine. You put up quite a fight,” Toryn told him.

A memory surfaced, slowly coalescing. “You were there…” Another memory floated up. “You kissed me!”

“I was trying to rescue you,” Toryn countered.

Wedge shot her a grin. “So you admit that you kissed me?”

Toryn quirked an eyebrow, giving him a flat look. Wedge chuckled softly, but a memory flashed up: of being herded towards a transport by Stormtroopers. Dread expanded through him. He swallowed, hesitating, trying to remember the sequence of events, trying to remember what had happened. Terrified of the answer, but needing to know, he asked, “Did I tell Vyre anything?”

“No,” Toryn assured him. “Nothing. Derlin confirmed it. You didn’t say a word.” She leaned forward, “And, on the troop transport… Wedge, you were brilliant. You did everything we needed you to, and because of you, Sheriff Svioisaar is off the hook.”

She gave him a moment to take that in before continuing, “However… the situation has evolved.”

“Luke?” Wedge asked. “Hobbie?”

“Are in no more danger than you are, right now,” she assured him. She paused, again, before finally finishing, “We may need you to go back to being a Rebel prisoner one more time.”

A flash of emotion washed across Wedge’s face. Then he swallowed, taking a breath, asking, “Is this just an excuse for you to kiss me again?”

Toryn grinned, rolling her eyes and swatting at his hand. “Laser-brain! You have a one-track mind!” Then she sobered, telling him, “Vader accepted our cover story of being bounty hunters. More than that, he’s engaged our services… And Vyre’s come to us, asking for help.”

Wedge frowned, his confusion evident. “What?”

“We think he’s going to use us to help him rescue Skywalker and Klivian… so that he can infiltrate the Rebel Alliance.”

“But,” Wedge tried, unable to follow her logic, “he’s ISB! Our guys aren’t stupid enough to believe he’d defect!”

“Except that Vyre is discredited,” Toryn countered, gently. “And we believe Vader is planning to use that to his advantage. Vyre wouldn’t be the first Imperial officer to defect to the Alliance. I agree with you: an ISB Colonel deserting the Empire is unlikely… but if he’s disgraced and facing reprisal, and arrives with rescued Rebel personnel? That makes for a sympathetic story.”

Anger curdled in Wedge’s gut. “Once we’ve got Luke and Hobbie back, we put a blaster bolt in his head, right?”

Toryn hesitated. Wedge frowned, inferring denial. He made a small sound of disbelief, “You’ve got to be kidding…”

“Wedge,” Toryn tried, “think about it. Letting Vyre believe he’s succeeded in infiltrating the Alliance, then controlling him once he’s in place: that might save lives. We can feed back misinformation.”

Wedge’s ire faded to background loathing… and a slow build of satisfaction as he realised the implications. Shooting Vyre in the head remained a good option, but Farr was right. Playing Vyre at his own game, knowing that the bastard was being unwittingly controlled and used: that had a gratifying sense of justice about it.

“Okay,” he agreed. “So what do you need from me?”

There was a grim determination in his voice that pulled a smile to Toryn’s lips. “You’re supposed to be bounty,” she began.

“…so if I’m not in chains when Vyre comes aboard,” Wedge concluded, “he’s going to wonder why.”

“Exactly,” Toryn confirmed. Then she hesitated. She had assured the Princess and Valdez that she had no doubts about Antilles playing his part in any continued subterfuge… but he had already gone above and beyond the call of duty. There were other options.

“Are you sure you’re up for this, Wedge?” she found herself asking. “We could tell Vyre that Karsaar put you under medical sedation.”

“No!” Wedge countered. “No way! I want to be wide awake! I want to see the smug, self-satisfied look on that bastard’s face when he sees me in binders and has no idea he’s being played!”

Toryn nodded. Wedge deserved that much. He had suffered at the hands of Vyre. The full enormity of everything he had endured probably wouldn’t hit him until he was back in the relative safety of the Rebel Alliance, but at least he would get the satisfaction of being able to tell Skywalker and Klivian that he had looked Marek Vyre in the eye and watched him being duped.

Her comlink beeped, and she silenced it, telling Wedge, “I need to go. I have a briefing. Rest until I get back. I’ll be able to tell you more, then.”

“Major?” Wedge asked as she pushed herself to her feet. “What about Hobbie and Luke?”

“They’re safe for the moment. That’s all I can tell you. Now, rest.”

“Major?” he asked, again, as she turned away. She stopped, looking back at him. He gave her a cheeky smile. “Are you planning on kissing me, again, when you get back?”

Toryn rolled her eyes, sighing loudly. “And they told me spores only affected the lungs, not the brain…”

oo0oo

Artoo Detoo burbled softly to himself as he scanned the information trails, pushing deeper into the Imperial databases. Being able to link through the Sheriff Bureau had given him a certain amount of access, but the Imperial machine did not entirely trust the planetary militia and only specific paths had been open to his search… until he had taken the chance of using Colonel Vyre’s sanction.

The ISB officer’s authority had opened many more avenues to him, and Artoo had used the opportunity to purloin potentially useful information. The Princess Leia, Commander Skywalker and Major Derlin were going to be pleased at some of the data he had been able to retrieve.

But the one thing he had been searching for had eluded him. Until now.

They had fled the Dendraali base with only partial information. The data download had only just begun when the base mainframe had questioned the intrusion. Artoo had been able to stall, but not long enough, and had been forced to break contact: hastily unplugging as the security countermeasures surged into action, almost frying his circuits while alerting the base troops to the infringement.

Now, however, it appeared that he may have found the data, again. Not on Dendraali, itself, but in the Imperial centre: Coruscant.

Artoo took his time, looking at the myriad of requests being submitted to the Imperial mainframe, sampling the format before finally taking the plunge and submitting his own request for the information he knew had to be there.

The mainframe queried.

Artoo evaded specifics, supplying his location simply as Vaaljajord, and repeating Colonel Vyre’s name. The Coruscant mainframe cross-referenced, then queried again.

Knowing that he had gone too far to pull back without looking suspicious, Artoo provided the code that Vyre had used to secure the services of the _Freedom Shade_ : Tusken One Aurek.

There was a pause… then the mainframe questioned why Colonel Vyre required a second copy of the information.

Artoo hesitated. _A second copy_? _Colonel Vyre had already downloaded the information?_

The mainframe pushed for an answer, questioning, again, why Vyre would require a second copy.

Having no idea how to answer, hoping to evade too much scrutiny, Artoo simply told the Imperial computer that he didn’t know, but would inform Vyre to request the information as soon as he was available: the Colonel currently being in discussion with the Lord Darth Vader about the Vaaljajord situation.

Artoo began to draw back, but the answer appeared to satisfy the Imperial computer. The information unlocked. Trilling his excitement, Artoo downloaded the offered data package. Then, slowly, he retraced his steps. He didn’t try to cover his tracks. An Imperial droid would have no need to do so and the trail would, legitimately, stop at the Sheriff’s Bureau.

He paused before completely pulling out of the information network. The Dendraali information was important. And he knew from the security recordings that, right now, the Sheriff was aboard the _Freedom Shade_. She might be able to get the information to the Princess and Major Derlin without him risking direct contact with the ship.

Humming tunelessly to himself, Artoo turned his attention to the Sheriff Bureau’s droid, Kaysix.

oo0oo

“The shuttle will be protected by a fighter escort and will land outside the medical centre,” Shawn Valdez told the assembled resistance fighters and Alliance personnel. “Before that happens, we need to get the strike team into position to launch the attack on the troopers inside the medical centre.”

“We brought four of your people here,” Valda told him. “We can cover four of your strike team back out.”

“If they cross the roofs from Valda’s place, they’ll get to within a block of the medical centre,” Ash Svioisaar put in. “How many more do you need covered?”

“Another four,” Sergeant Arisii supplied.

“There’s the storm channels,” Ash suggested, pulling her comlink from her pocket, “but you’ll have to rope yourselves off. Water will be running fast after these rains. The plus side is: water’s flowing in the right direction. You ain’t going to be fighting up stream of it. Kaysix,” she went on, keying the comswitch, “this is the Sheriff. Push me through the schematics of the storm drains. Water’s running high. If the top end gets choked like last time, the landing pads will be awash again. I’d rather Lord Vader’s troopers didn’t get their feet wet…”

“Accessing,” Kaysix’s voice confirmed, “and streaming to your datapad, Sheriff.”

“Thanks,” Ash told the droid. “Best alert Mal Verssen at the town engineers office, too. He might want to put droids down to check.”

She cut the comlink, telling Arisii, “Mal’s one of ours. The droids will confirm if the channels are clear for you to get through…”

“What about me?” Zånder Olgenssen asked. “I can fight!” he went on as everyone looked at him.

“We can’t allow you to do that,” Leia told him. “The Malhördhem resistance has already done too much. Our remit, now, is to control the damage we have already caused and to protect not just Malhördhem, but everyone on Vaaljajord. If we allow any of you to directly involve yourself in this Alliance operation, we would be putting everyone in Malhördhem at risk. If you were to be identified, or taken by the Empire, the Imperial reprisal against the town would be swift… and brutal.”

“I’m already identified!” Zånder countered.

“Yes, you are,” Leia agreed, “but the situation evolved while you were sheltering Major Derlin.”

“How so?” the Deputy asked.

“We saw an opportunity to protect your grandparents and we took it,” Valdez told him.

Zånder sat forward, hope flaring. “The arrest warrant’s been stopped?”

“Not yet,” Valdez admitted, “but we have an agent who has vouched that your grandparents were innocent bystanders… and who also placed you as the resistance commander running the Vaaljajord Route.”

Zånder straightened, looking from Valdez to Leia in surprise. “Me?”

“As a Sheriff’s Deputy, you are far better placed to be the mastermind behind the Vaaljajord Route than an elderly couple who have never left the forest,” Leia offered. “And your grandparents never went to the crash site. You, however, were ideally placed to tell Major Derlin that he and his people would be safe in your grandparents’ home.”

Zånder considered that for a moment. “And the Imperials will believe that?”

“We have a family acquaintance,” Tarja Karsaar told him, “in Imperial Security. He has my sworn testimony that Major Derlin was holding Hetta at blaster point when I got to the house, and that your grandparents were forced to help.”

Zånder looked at her in astonishment. Her sworn testimony? Could… could Tarja be the agent the Princess had spoken about? He opened his mouth to ask a flood of questions... then reined them all in, remembering the Princess’ words: _Our remit… is to manage the damage we have already caused and to protect Malhördhem_. Asking damned-fool questions wasn’t going to help them do that. Doing what the Rebel Alliance needed him to do: that’s what would help. There would be time enough, later, for him to take the fight to the Empire.

He nodded acknowledgement to Tarja then looked back at the Princess Leia. “I’ll keep out of it, if that’s for the best.”

Leia smiled at him. “Thank you, Deputy.”

“So we have four leaving tonight,” Shawn Valdez began, pushing the briefing ahead, nodding at Toryn Farr as she moved into the room to stand against the wall. “And four to use the storm channels… To go where?”

The Sheriff looked at Valda. “Anvør…”

When Valda nodded, Ash looked back at Shawn and Leia. “Anvør Karstjansaar’s place is opposite the medical centre.”

“We can’t put our people in another home,” Valdez countered. “If they’re discovered…”

“Anvør lives above her store,” Ash told him. “In the present situation, she won’t open for business. And there’s little need of security systems here. Your folks need only break through the door and stay in the store. They’ll be safe. So will Anvør.”

Valdez looked at Leia for confirmation, who nodded.

“We’ll lay the plans,” Sergeant Arisii confirmed.

“What about Antilles?” Ash asked. “What if the Empire change their mind and want him back?”

“Commander Antilles will not be handed over to the Empire,” Valdez assured her.

Ash quirked an eyebrow. “You fixing on blasting your way past that Star Destroyer to make sure of it?”

“Sheriff,” Leia began, “your concern is valid, but it won’t come to that…” She paused, knowing that she would be putting both the Malhördhem resistance and the operation at risk by giving them too much information. “I wish we could brief you fully on the situation,” she told the Sheriff, “but, for your own safety, there are certain details we must withhold. However, I assure you that, discredited as he is, Vyre’s influence is limited. He no longer has the authority to come after Commander Antilles. And, unlike Commander Skywalker, Wedge Antilles gives the Empire little strategic leverage. Skywalker is the only one that Vader and the Empire have any interest in.”

Derlin took a deep breath as Leia’s words pushed realisation through him. A small voice of anxiety tried to surface and scream at him that his conclusion was suicide, but in the face of everything Leia had just said, there was nothing else he could do. “Skywalker’s not the only one they want,” he countered. He took another, deep breath as everyone turned their attention to him. “The Empire also wants me…”

Shawn Valdez had worked with Derlin on more than one mission. He knew how the Major thought. And, now, he had a good idea of what the Major was about to suggest. He shook his head, telling him, “No!”

Leia looked from Derlin, to Valdez. “No, what?”

“Major Derlin is about to propose that he surrenders himself to Imperial authorities.”

“Actually,” Derlin corrected, “I was about to propose that the good Sheriff took me in.”

Ash looked at him, aghast. “Did you get a knock on the head?”

“Out of the question!” Leia denied.

Derlin looked at her. “Your Highness,” he reminded her, softly, “we have a responsibility to mitigate the damage we have caused here, to protect Malhördhem and Vaaljajord. If we’re going to do that, we have to assure the Empire of their loyalty. Vaaljajord is already in the Empire’s firing line. Vyre taunted me about it, about Vaaljajord standing as an example of what would happen to those who support to the Alliance. We can’t risk this world suffering the same fate as Alderaan.”

Leia’s breath caught in her chest, her stomach lurching. She was used to Alderaan being referenced. It always made her chest tighten, but she was used to it. She was adept at pushing the grief beneath her focus on the job at hand. However, unconfirmed reports had been reaching the Alliance of a new Death Star being built. The thought of watching Vaaljajord being destroyed as Alderaan had, broke through her normal composure. Terror and grief surged through her.

Derlin saw the colour drain from her face and swore, silently. “Your Highness,” he began, “I…”

“No,” she interrupted, finding her voice, “your point is well made.”

“But,” Valda began in disbelief. “Half the folks in town believe in the Empire. The Empire wouldn’t attack their own! Attack folks who supported them?”

“Tarkin Doctrine,” Tarja Karsaar offered, softly. “Rule through fear…” She looked at Leia Organa, seeing the barely concealed distress on the woman’s face. _Leia Organa… of Alderaan_.

Tarja swallowed, hard. A terrible suspicion had been growing within her since Vyre had summarily executed Basun and Raimik: that the Emperor might actually be complicit in Tarkin’s doctrine, actively sanctioning it. She had been unwilling to believe it… but now, after Derlin’s words, she saw something in Leia Organa’s eyes that chilled her. The suspicion curdled in her chest.

Could the Emperor truly be so oblivious to the sadistic brutality being meted out in his name? Despite everything that had been reported about Alderaan: concealed weapons, a terrible accident, efforts to save survivors… had the Emperor lied about the deaths? Had he sanctioned genocide?

Afraid of the answer but needing to have it confirmed, needing to hear it from Organa, herself, she began, “Everything that was reported about Alderaan, about them hiding weapons, about a horrific accident… It was lies... Wasn’t it? The Empire destroyed Alderaan…”

The anguish that Leia had so tightly controlled, for so many years, rose up. It tightened in her chest, clogging her throat, burning her eyes.

“The Empire,” Cara Dune confirmed, softly, “destroyed Alderaan.”

Leia locked eyes with Cara. “Alderaan was destroyed because I refused to divulge the location of an Alliance base,” she clarified, voice almost – but not quite – breaking.

“Which is why we need to make sure that the Empire believes that Vaaljajord is loyal,” Derlin pushed, drawing attention away from Leia as her composure wavered. “The Sheriff taking me in will cement her position. It might even make them overlook the fact that one of her Deputies was a Rebel.”

Ash shook her head, “No.” Crossing her arms over her chest defiantly, she told him, “I ain’t handing you over to die!”

Derlin smiled at her stubborn refusal. “The Emperor has specific plans for me,” he assured her. “That was something else Vyre let slip. It was why Vyre wouldn’t touch me. Palpatine plans to have me thrown into a mindwipe tank and re-educated. My father was a Senator,” he explained. “He never fully embraced Palpatine as Emperor. Palpatine had him assassinated. Now he wants Senator Derlin’s son standing at the forefront of the Empire, denouncing the Alliance as terrorists and seditionists.”

Ash looked at him, open-mouthed in horror. She uncrossed her arms, taking a step towards him, squaring up to him, shaking her head. “I ain’t handing you over to that!”

“You’re the only one who _can_ hand me over,” Derlin countered, calmly. “You’re the only one who can ensure that I go straight to the medical centre, not Vader’s shuttle...”

Ash took another step forward, ready to argue.

“I’m no use to them dead. And Vader chose to let Skywalker stay in the hyper-atmospheric chamber,” Derlin reminded her. “They won’t take me out once I’m sealed in. Not until the cycle’s finished.”

Ash looked at the Rebel Major, running the implications through in her head, wondering if he was brave or just recklessly insane. Concluding it was probably a combination of both, she crossed her arms, again. “The hyper-atmospheric chamber didn’t save Antilles,” she reminded him. “Vyre pulled him out.”

Derlin nodded in acknowledgement, repeating, “But Palpatine needs me alive. Why would Vader risk taking me out before he’s ready to leave with Skywalker?”

“And by then, the rescue shuttle will be here and you’ll all be gone…” Ash finished. The idea was crazy enough to work. She quirked an eyebrow at him, then looked at Leia. “Tell me, Highness, are all your special ops commanders like him? Or is he _special_ in a crazy way?”

Leia had listened to, but not really heard, the conversation. Caught off guard, she made an attempt to pull herself together and bring her full attention back to the rescue attempt. “Major Derlin is one of our finest officers…”

Ash gave her a flat look, quirking an eyebrow again, inferring, “Special kind of crazy...”  
“Anyone working with Skywalker and Antilles,” Cara Dune observed, “has to be a special kind of crazy…”

Valdez gave her a look, then turned his attention back to the briefing. “To recap… We have four operatives leaving with Lady Valda; four routing via the storm channels to position behind the medical centre; and the Sheriff handing Major Derlin over to the Imperials…”

“I’d like to join a team,” Cara Dune put in.

“Me, too,” Haarlan Gelnara added. “We’ve done precious little but run and hide since the mission went wrong.”

Valdez looked to the two sergeants, who would be leading the teams. They both nodded. “Alright,” Valdez confirmed. “Gelnara, you’re with Comdhail. Dune, you’re with Ariisi.” Then he turned, looking at Leia for confirmation. “Two strike teams, one handover: is that what we’re planning for, Ma’am?”

Reluctantly, Leia nodded.

“So,” Valdez went on, looking at Ash “where do you propose to find Derlin? And how?”

“Juta Torsaar’s warehouse,” Zånder Olgenssen suggested, “where we were hiding before. There’s windows overlooking the anchorage. An empty warehouse should be dark…”

“…but if I happened to see a light as I was leaving,” Ash picked up, agreeing with the suggestion, “that would catch my attention…”

“And not trusting bounty hunters, you’d keep it to yourself,” Zånder finished. Beside him, Tarja Karsaar’s compad chimed.

“Or Juta could simply report something amiss in the morning,” Ash decided.

“I’m needed back at the medical centre,” Karsaar interrupted, getting to her feet. “Hobbie’s beginning to come around from the anaesthetic.” She looked at Leia and Valdez. “I’ll keep you updated…”

“There’s one more thing,” Leia put in, “before you leave… In order to protect our fighters and ground troops, we have to sever the ability of the Empire to communicate. That means the deployment of a magflux charge.”

“Mugflux?” Ash began. “Are you insane?” Even as she said it, she could see that it made sense. Nothing else would take out Imperial communications instantaneously. “Of course you’re insane,” she finished. “We’re all insane!” She took a breath. “The Bureau and the medical centre are shielded.”

“There are some patients I’ll need to bring in,” Karsaar put in. “I’ll make arrangements.”

“Wait… What about Artoo?” Valda asked. “My place ain’t shielded.”

“We’re still working on that one,” Valdez admitted.

“But if Artoo can be hidden in the medical centre, it would allow communication,” Leia put in.

“That can be arranged,” Karsaar confirmed. “I’ve already alluded to a treatment regime for Valda. Getting meds from the centre would be good cover.”

“Ladies and gentleman,” Valdez concluded, “I think we have a plan.”

“How long will we have between your ships drop in and the magflux charge firing?” Ash asked.

“Minutes,” Valdez provided. “No more.”

“We’ll be ready,” Ash confirmed, then checked her chronometer. “Time’s marching on… and, truth be told, I need to get my head down for an hour before my thinking blurs.” She checked her compad, frowning slightly as she saw a tag blinking at her. Accessing it, she quirked an eyebrow then held the compad out to Valdez. “You’ll be needing the storm channel schematics… and it looks like Kaysix has sent you a little something extra…”

Valdez took it, turning to plug it in to one of the consoles. “As soon as it’s daylight,” Ash went on, “we’ll start calling around folks, asking them to check their properties. That gives you six hours to get the good Major into that warehouse.”

“Understood, Sheriff,” Leia confirmed.

Ash turned her attention to Derlin. “Don’t suppose you aim to come quietly when I drop in later, Major?” she asked.

Derlin flashed her a wicked grin. “Don’t suppose I do.”

Shaking her head, rolling her eyes, Ash repeated, “Special kind of crazy.” She looked at Zånder, ordering, “Give him your service side-arm, Deputy. Let him make a show of it.”

“As ordered, Boss,” Zånder confirmed, sliding the blaster from its holster and holding it out to Derlin. “Make sure you don’t hit her,” he warned the Major. “Happened once… just once… on stun… and I ain’t ever been allowed to forget it…”

Derlin quirked an eyebrow as Valda began to chuckle. He turned, looking up at Ash, who was scowling at her Deputy. “I think,” Derlin said, slowly, “that’s a story I’d like to hear…”

“If you get out of this without being mindwiped,” Ash told him, “I’ll recount the story to you myself… what I remember of it.”

Valdez turned back to Ash, holding out the compad, “Thank you, Sheriff.”

She took it, telling him, “I’ll make a show of checking the storm channels before I head back to the Bureau. Means you’ll be able to gauge how much open ground your people need to cross before they’re safe in the pipes.”

“Sheriff,” Leia began, softly and sincerely, “there are no words to adequately encompass our gratitude for enduring what you did… or for everything you are doing…” She looked from Valda, to Tarja, then back to the Sheriff. “Everything that you are all continuing to do...”

“Ain’t nothing any decent person wouldn’t do,” Valda replied.

“And your folks have come off worse,” Ash pointed out. Then she paused, remembering Basun and Raimik and the Rebel soldiers killed in the crash. She took a deep breath. “You have my word,” she assured the Princess, “that we’ll do everything we can to ensure your dead are given the rights they’re due, and with respect.”

Leia nodded, unable to find anything to say, except, “Thank you.”

“Well,” Ash went on, tucking her compad into a pocket, “I’ve got storm channels to check, some sleep to get and a Rebel Major to find. So if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll be on my way…”

oo0oo

Vader was on one knee, head bowed, as the holographic image of the Emperor sprang into life. He kept his head down in deference as Palpatine acknowledged, “Lord Vader. You have news.”

“Master,” Vader began, “there has been… a… complication…”

“How so?”

“Skywalker was injured during the crash. He has been infected by spores specific to the Forest of Daemor. Untreated, the infestation will result in his death. He is confined to a hyper-atmospheric chamber, under the care of an ISB medical specialist. I am assured that the treatment will be successful.”

There was a pause, before Palpatine asked. “How long must he remain within the chamber?”

“He can be released in fifteen hours, my Master.”

“And the injuries?”

“Internal, Master. He has undergone surgery. The medical specialist is confident of his physical recovery… However… I believe the boy to be in Force trauma…”

There was another pause and Vader could sense the narrowing of Palpatine’s eyes at the news. “Cut off from the Force?”

“Yes, Master,” Vader confirmed. “He is conscious, but there is no sense of him within the Force, even at this close distance. From the ship’s descent profile, I believe he may have been trying to slow the fall. If he was immersed in the Force when the ship hit the ground...” Vader trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

“I was aware of his silence,” Palpatine began, already adapting his scheming to the new situation. Without the Force to draw upon, Skywalker would be more susceptible to re-education. All that need be ensured was the whelp’s transformation into a loyal servant of the Empire being completed in the weeks or months before the Force returned to him: a transformation that would be made all the more interesting by the presence of Skywalker’s Rebel friends, also in custody on Vaaljajord. How better to prove Skywalker’s loyalty than to watch him execute his former, seditious associates.

“This may work to our advantage, my friend,” Palpatine told Vader, finally. “Bring Skywalker to me, and Derlin, and the other Rebels who survived the impact. They will secure Skywalker’s cooperation.”

Vader allowed the respiration unit to fill his lungs and empty them before beginning, “Master… by the time I arrived, Derlin was no longer in custody. Colonel Vyre is currently leading the search for him, aided by the local militia.”

There was an ominous silence before Palpatine began, “Derlin is no longer in custody… and yet Colonel Vyre still remains at his post?” The tone was soft, light, and full of menace.

“A saw an opportunity, Master. Vyre is now under my authority, with orders to infiltrate the Rebel Alliance. They will, undoubtedly, attempt a rescue. His defection will be plausible considering his failure to detain Derlin…”

Vader kept his head down, waiting. Finally, Palpatine spoke. “Then let us hope he does as much damage to the Rebellion as he has done to the Empire, Lord Vader! Find Derlin!” he ordered. “Find him and bring him to me, along with Skywalker and the other Rebels! And should your anticipated rescue not materialise, you will take Colonel Vyre into custody and deliver him to me, also!”

“Yes, my Master…”

The holograph snapped into silence and Vader remained on his knee, head down.

When he arrived on Corusant without Skywalker, Palpatine’s wrath would be incalculable. He would have to tread carefully to convince the Emperor of the validity of the vision the Force had given him on-route to Vaaljajord.

The images swept back up, strong and clear.

_"Young fool! Only now, at the end, will you begin to understand! The woman who, so diligently, nursed you back to health is not a Rebel sympathiser: she is a loyal, Imperial agent. She has fed you specifically selected information …”_

Everything was moving towards that vision. Luke would be cared for by Tarja Karsaar: the loyal, Imperial agent. And once the boy was recovered enough, she would bring him to Mustafar, where he would be trained in the ways of the Dark Side of the Force. And Vader would ensure that Palpatine had no part in Luke’s training.

The Emperor, however, was correct about one thing. Luke had a connection to those who had fought with him. They could be used against him. Antilles and Klivian would no longer be prizes of the bounty hunters. They would be taken into Imperial custody and transferred to the _Executor_. Their torment would echo through the Force, taunting Luke in his recovery, just as the suffering of the _Millennium Falcon_ ’s crew had drawn the boy to him on Bespin.

For the moment, however, he would leave the Rebels where they were. It made sense to let Karsaar nurse Klivian’s injuries. And Antilles was safe in the bounty hunters’ custody, for now.

He would bide his time and allow this to play out.

He rose to his feet. Turning, he walked through the shuttle towards the ramp. “ _Soon, Obi-Wan…”_ he promised the older Jedi, silently. _“Soon your failure will be absolute…”_


	20. Mission Abort + 45hrs

_Mission Abort + 45hrs_

_06:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

MEDICAL SPECIALIST TARJA KARSAAR sat at her desk, reading through medical reports, ensuring that everything was in order should the medical droids have to assume sole care of her patients until another medical specialist was appointed.

The Alliance ‘rescue’ plan was to dupe the Imperial forces into believing that the Rebels were no longer in Malhördhem, allowing Skywalker, Klivian and Derlin to be concealed within the medical centre and continue receiving medical attention. Tarja, however, had tabled enough surgeries to know that things did not always go to plan. No matter how well thought-out the Alliance strategy might be, she had to consider that, by this time tomorrow, neither she nor the Rebels would be in Malhördhem. And the wounded Alliance officers were not her only patients.

She picked up her beaker of kaffin, taking a long draw on the syrup-sweetened liquid as she moved to the next set of records.

“Specialist Karsaar.”

Tarja looked up at Colonel Marek Vyre as he walked through the open door of her office. She had been anticipating his visit since the evening before, when the Lord Vader had first informed her of her new assignment: to ensure that Skywalker reached the Rebel Alliance along with Vyre. “Colonel,” she acknowledged, before inviting, “Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment. There’s fresh kaffin in the pot, if you’d like,” she went on, returning her attention to the medical reports.

Vyre prickled at the somewhat-dismissive reception. “Specialist…” he began.

Attention still on the reports, Tarja repeated, “Take a seat, Colonel. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Quirking an eyebrow, biting down on a caustic reply, Vyre acquiesced.

“You’ll find beakers over there,” Tarja supplied, indicating a shelving unit with a wave of her hand, her attention still on the datascreen.

Vyre stayed seated, crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair, irked at being dismissed like a junior officer, but forcing himself to remain calm. He had been thrown a lifeline and he refused to have it jeopardised by provoking Karsaar to go bleating to Vader. He would find another opportunity to remind her of her place.

Finally, she tapped a selection on the screen, telling the protocol droid at reception, “Ceetoo, I’m in private conference. Hold any calls. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

As the office door slid closed, she turned her attention to Vyre. “Colonel.”

“Have you made contact with the Rebels?” he asked, dismissing any pleasantries.

“Skywalker is due to be released from the hyper-atmospheric chamber in four hours,” Tarja began. “At some point before that, the Rebel Alliance will launch an attack against Vaaljajord, as cover for a rescue shuttle landing somewhere in the vicinity of the medical centre. But, that’s just a ruse. Neither Skywalker nor Klivian will leave on the shuttle. Instead, they will be concealed within the medical centre, where the Rebels believe they will continue to receive medical treatment. Any Rebel personnel injured in the attack will also be hidden here.”

Vyre sat for a moment, stunned by the simple audacity of the ‘rescue’. A ruse within a ruse: and with the Imperial forces believing Skywalker was no longer on Vaaljajord it would be far less complicated to get him back to the Rebels once he was fully recovered.

“Where within the facility?” he asked.

“An overflow triage area used during the Daemor harvest. The access will be hidden by holoprojectors.”

Vyre considered that information, then asked, “When will Skywalker be fit to travel?”

“I’ll require to monitor him for another twelve to fourteen hours, to ensure the spore infestation has been completely neutralised.”

Vyre nodded, formulating that information into a plan. “I have engaged the services of the bounty hunters,” he told her after a moment. “We can move Skywalker to their ship once it’s safe to do so. I have no doubt that he will give us the location of at least one Rebel base when he believes that he’s being taken to safety.”

“Lord Vader agreed that Klivian should join Skywalker,” Tarja told him. “Returning both pilots to Rebel lines will make the rescue more credible. Antilles will only add to that credibility.”

“I believe,” Vyre informed her, rising to his feet, “that Lord Vader’s plans for Klivian and Antilles have changed. Our priority is Skywalker, and Skywalker alone! Do I make myself clear?”

Stomach lurching, but knowing better than to push the point, Tarja sat back. “Very clear, Colonel.”

oo0oo

Sheriff Ashtor Svioisaar stretched then relaxed for a moment before sitting up and swinging her legs to the floor. Sigurd Arnassen grinned at her, holding out a large beaker of kaffin, and a small food container. The smell from the container made Ash’s stomach rumble. She quirked an eyebrow, “Breakfast in bed, huh?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Sig quipped. “Folks will start talking… but we got ourselves a long day ahead. Erika called Mama Torga‘s for a delivery: fresh-made blarberry bakes…”

Ash gratefully accepted the kaffin. Sig opened the food container, holding it out to let Ash pick out one of the bakes.

“Where are we on other matters?” Ash asked, biting into it. It tasted even better than it smelled.

“Derlin’s settled in the warehouse,” Sig confirmed. “Kaysix has called folks, asking them to check their properties. Mal will have droids in the storm channels within the hour. Derek Klivian is making a steady recovery, but still full of pain meds. Skywalker’s spore saturation levels are dropping steadily. Tarja’s had herself some sleep. Vyre’s not stirred from the hotel since last night. All your Deputies are rested and ready.”

Ash swallowed a long draw of the kaffin as she processed that information. Then she nodded, “Thanks, Sig.” She held out the beaker to him. “Top that up, while I wash and change?”

“Will do, Boss!”

Erika Valsaar appeared in the office door. “We just got the report from Juta Torsaar that her anchorage warehouse has been broken into… And Colonel Vyre’s on the move, heading this way.”

Ash swore, softly. The last thing she needed was Vyre getting in the way, especially when they had the business with Derlin to…

She drew herself up as an idea occurred. Vyre’s presence might not be such a bad thing. If Vyre was with them when they brought Derlin in, he’d lend credence to the apparent arrest. All she had to do was make sure that Vyre didn’t prevent them from getting Derlin to the medical centre.

And if Derlin was risking himself to protect Malhördhem, it was only right that she and her Deputies did everything they could to convince the Empire that they were loyal. Vyre might be out of favour with Vader, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep him on side.

“Call a briefing,” she told Sig and Erika. “Bring up a map of the anchorage. Let’s plan for an arrest, working on the theory that both Derlin and Zånder are in that warehouse. And when Vyre walks in that door, we show him every courtesy. Understood?”

Erika frowned, unsure where Ash was going with this. Sig was also frowning. “Every courtesy?”

“Every courtesy,” Ash confirmed. “Colonel Vyre is an ISB officer, upholding the safety and security of the Empire… same as we are. You give him his due. Understood?”

A slow smile pulled across Erika’s face. “You planning on bringing him along on the arrest, Sheriff?”

“I’m planning on being prepared for every turn of events,” she confirmed.

oo0oo

Vader knelt, deep in meditation, immersed in the desires and hungers of Dark Side of the Force. They embraced him, strengthening him. Since discovering that his son was alive, the objects of his shaded emotions had changed, but that mattered little.

The Dark Side identified only the anger, grief, betrayal, and lust for vengeance. For almost two decades they had been focussed on Padme, on Obi-Wan and the Jedi. In the years following the eradication of the Jedi Order, in his anguish, rage and resentment, the Dark Side had shown him that Padme’s reasons for following him to Mustafar had not been the treason he had accused her off. Instead, Obi-Wan had deceived her and, in her innocence and love for Anakin Skywalker, she had believed the deception.

Obi-Wan had betrayed her.

Obi-Wan had betrayed them both.

The anger and loathing rose up again, but not just at Obi-Wan. Since Yavin, things had changed. In the days following the destruction of the Death Star, Vader had finally acknowledged a truth he had not allowed himself to consider: Palpatine had allowed Padme to die.

Palpatine had promised him the knowledge that would save her… but hadn’t delivered on that promise.

… _it seems in your anger, you killed her_ …

He had known it was a lie… but after Obi-Wan’s ultimate betrayal, under the influence of the medication coursing through what was left of his body, and in the face of the emptiness where her light had once been, he had discarded his instincts and believed Palpatine.

He had been deceived by Palpatine, just as he had been deceived by the Jedi.

_The fear of losing power is a weakness of both the Sith and the Jedi…_

Palpatine certainly feared it. And in Luke, that fear had been manifest.

Luke… his son… Nothing could dampen the desire to know the boy, to embrace him, to have Luke stand at his side.

_Son, come with me… it is your destiny…_

_No! It’s impossible…_

The vision rose up, wrapping around him, drawing him into its depths.

_Twin suns hung low against the horizon as the wind ruffled through his hair. A voice called to him through the evening breeze. “Luke…”_

_Immense, red-barked trees rose high above him, fracturing the sunlight into dappled greens. Animals leapt from branch to branch. “Luke…”_

_The thunder of a waterfall filled the air with a cool spray that brushed across his bare skin and fractured into rainbows above him. “Luke?”_

_Rain hammered onto the roof as a pot bubbled over a fire… “Much anger in him, like his father…”_

_Heat and lava flowed around him. “You were the Chosen One! You were to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!”_

_He stood, facing Obi-Wan, lightsabre ready in his hand. “I have brought peace, justice, freedom, and security to my new Empire!”_

_“Anakin! Obi-Wan told me terrible things…”_

_He turned towards Padme’s voice, and found himself in a darkened room. Younglings huddled in a corner, trying to hide. A blond boy climbed to his feet. “Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?”_

oo0oo

Luke slammed awake, crying out a denial, trying to rid himself of the lightsaber in his hand and scramble away from the dead younglings… but a wave of pain robbed him of movement, erupting through him. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

_Your father’s lightsaber… the weapon of a Jedi knight…_

_I am your father!_

“No,” he choked, anguish tearing at him. Pain crushed through his chest.

_“Son! Join me….”_

Darkness fluttered at the edge of his consciousness.

_“Fear... the Dark Side of the Force... Consume you it will… Clear your mind…”_

“Luke!”

The pain dissolved so abruptly that he gasped in shock, collapsing back, breathing out, dragging in another breath.

“Luke! Can you hear me?”

The authority in the voice cut through the horror and panic. He turned his head, blinking as the movement made his vision swim. “Leia?”

“I’ve given you something for the pain!”

Not Leia, he realised. “Tarja…” He closed his eyes.

_Clear your mind…_

His racing heart slowed. He took a shaky breath....

_Calm… Peace… Through the Force things you will see… the future… the past…_

The afterimages of the vision reared up, again: the terror on the youngling’s face as the lightsabre had ignited.

Panic surged and a sob tore through him. Was this his future? His chest tightened. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t. Heat burned up through his body, bursting out in rivulets of sweat. Nausea surged.

Outside the hyper-atmospheric chamber, Tarja Karsaar swore as the medical readouts fluctuated. With Luke confined inside the chamber, there were few options open to her. She administered a sedative, knocking him out completely, watching the readouts closely as the trichlotrazide took effect. His heart rate and blood pressure began to lower to a more normal range.

She continued to monitor him, watching the flush disappear from his face, his chest rising and falling evenly. Finally satisfied that he was, once more, in a stable condition, she headed for her office, and for the medical information the Rebel Alliance had provided about the Jedi.

oo0oo

Vader drew back from the meditation, a slow smile of triumph tugging at his lips. The tremble of fear and dread had been so faint, that he had sensed it only because he had been searching for it. Luke was no longer completely blind to the Force… The Force trauma was healing.

_“Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?”_

Vader embraced the memory: the lightsabre igniting and the youngling taking a step back. Terror washed across the youngling’s face, but there was no time to run as the lightsabre swung down. There was no crying, no screaming. It was over quickly. Three, four swings of the lightsaber, and the younglings lay dead.

There had been no hesitation. It had been a simple choice. They had been sacrificed so that he could save Padme.

It would all have been so different if the Jedi hadn’t lied to him. Afraid of him and the purpose foretold of him, they had fettered him by refusing him knowledge. They had plotted and schemed and kept him on the outside. They had paid for their betrayal: they had all paid. He had no regrets.

That Palpatine had also failed him, only added to his resolve.

He would avenge the treachery. He would avenge the time lost with his son. Palpatine was as afraid of Luke Skywalker’s potential as the Jedi had been of Anakin Skywalker’s. He would use that to usurp the Emperor. With Palpatine lying dead at his feet, and Luke standing at his side, he would crush the sedition of the Rebel Alliance and forge the Empire into the peaceful, secure and free society he had envisioned two decades before, with Padme.

oo0oo

Ash Svioisaar turned, looking at Colonel Marek Vyre as he walked into the Bureau office. She acknowledged him with a nod, then turned her attention back to the holomap.

“Juta says that there’s no rear or side exit,” Sig offered. “But there are windows overlooking the anchorage, about seven feet up. They could be accessed by climbing the crates she has stored there…”

“They’re desperate,” Ash put in. “They’ll run. Or Zånder will try. Derlin was showing signs of Spore Lung. I doubt he’ll go anywhere fast.”

“Derlin?” Vyre asked, stepping forward, looking from Ash to the holomap, optimism sparking. “You have something definite?”

“No,” Ash told him, “but we’re following a lead.” She nodded towards the map, “Warehouse at the anchorage: owner reports the lock’s been tampered with. I reckon Olgenssen would stick close, especially if Derlin is sick.”

“Lord Vader has been informed?”

Ash turned, looking at the Colonel. Crossing her arms, she met his gaze with as much authority as she could muster, then told him, “A word? My office!”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned, walking away from him, refusing to look back to see if he was following. Only when she reached her office, did she stop and turn around. Vyre was right behind her. She hooked her thumbs into her belt and told him, “I ain’t putting myself or my Deputies in a situation with Lord Vader. I ain’t whetting his expectations, only for that warehouse to be empty. The plan is to check it out, arrest Zånder and Derlin if they’re there… and take them to Vader.”

Vyre opened his mouth to speak, but Ash ignored it, stepping towards him, interrupting, “You and I are doing the same job, Colonel: ensuring the safety and security of the Empire. I don’t admit to liking your methods but you’re doing your duty, as are we. Now, that being said: we have an opportunity to bring in a man who freed a known terrorist and left his colleagues to face the fallout…”

“A man you failed to identify as a seditionist,” Vyre reminded her.

Ash gave him a flat look, pushing down the desire to punch him in the face and throw him in the cells. She took a breath, letting it out slowly as she discarded everything else she had planned to say to him. Instead, she asked, bluntly, “Do you want to be the Imperial officer who brings in Derlin? Or don’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, she walked past him, telling him, “If you do, then check your mouth and follow me! And stay out of the way until we have them in custody!”

Vyre blinked, frowning as he turned to look after her. It was not the response he had anticipated. There again, nothing about Sheriff Ashtor Svoiosaar had been what he had anticipated. Despite the interrogation and Tarja Karsaar’s confirmation of her innocence, he still distrusted her. She was too confident, too sure of herself, and he didn’t trust that.

But bringing Derlin in was too tempting an opportunity for him to overlook. Huffing out a disgruntled sigh, he moved after her.

“Erika: stay here. You’re our eyes and ears,” Ash was ordering. “Markus, Gunter: you position beneath those windows in case they try running. Be careful and stay out of sight. Don’t spook them. Sig, Lenya: you’re with me. You follow me in through the door. No matter what happens, we take them alive! Understood?”

The Deputies voiced their acknowledgement.

Ash turned, taking Vyre’s presence as agreement to participate in the raid. “Colonel Vyre will be joining us. He’ll remain outside until we have the suspects in custody. Then, we hand Derlin over to him. Zånder, however, is ours. I want some time with that son of a spore before he’s given to the Empire. Understood?”

There was a murmur of agreement from the Deputies. “Good,” she went on. “Now, grab your armour and mount up! Colonel, you’re with me.”

oo0oo

Leia Organa put down the pad, overwhelmed by the detailed information that Artoo Deetoo had been able to retrieve from the Empire. The Imperial machine was nothing if not thorough. Not only had Artoo been able to secure a complete list of all the Alliance personnel held within the Dendraali facility, the little droid had found detailed information of Alliance prisoners in other facilities, as well as the units and effective dates of the re-educated Rebels already deployed into Imperial service.

She took a deep breath, lifting the pad she’d been making notes on.

“Anything interesting?”

Leia looked up at Shawn Valdez. She didn’t know where to start. There were so many names. Finally, she chose a name close to home. “Corporal Mønaeg Erikssaar… She was wounded, not killed, on Hoth. She died on an Imperial transport.”

Valdez sank into a chair. “Oh…”

Mønaeg Erikssaar was the instigator of the Vaaljajord Route. She was Per and Hetta’s granddaughter: the reason a resistance cell had formed in Malhördhem.

“Sergeant Major Callum,” Leia continued, “was also wounded, not killed…”

Dread pushed through Valdez. He sat forward, looking at Leia, jaw tightening. He had known Mønaeg Erikssaar only as one of Sergeant Major Callum’s squad… but he had worked much more closely with Trey Callum, himself. The carefully controlled expression on the Princess’ face did little to relieve his unease. If Callum had been wounded, there was every possibility that he was one of the soldiers being held in the Dendraali base.

Leia next words confirmed his fears. “His injuries made him a prime candidate for re-education,” she offered, softly. “He was one of the first to be processed, along with Zev Senesca…”

Valdez swallowed down the constriction in his throat. “Where?” he rasped, dreading the answer. “Where is he?”

“Vader’s troops,” Leia answered. “He’s aboard the _Executor_...”

Frustration and revulsion pushed Valdez to his feet. Turning, he slammed the flat of his hand against the bulkhead. He took a breath, holding it in for a moment before letting it out in a rush. Resting his forehead against the cold metal, he took another breath, composing himself, pushing down the anger, focussing it into a more useful emotion. Lashing out blindly would accomplish nothing, he reminded himself. Using the anger to centre and fuel his concentration, however: that would accomplish far more.

He straightened, drawing the mantle of Alliance officer around himself, once more. Turning back to the Princess, he saw the same anguish in her eyes, saw the same carefully constructed composure holding the distress in check. He took another breath, letting it out, slowly. “Makes sense,” he offered. “Callum is the best of the best. And it serves Palpatine’s twisted purpose to draft him into Vader’s battalion when his last Alliance action was fighting against them.”

Leia nodded. “And a deliberate attempt to undermine the morale of Alliance personnel, if they find out they might be firing on friends…”

Valdez sank back into the chair. “How detailed is the information?”

Leia shook her head. “Until Alliance Command have seen this,” she told him, “I can’t tell you any more than that. I’m sorry.”

Valdez nodded. His anger had receded, but he still had a sick feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He pushed himself to his feet. “The Sheriff and her people are moving in on Derlin.”

“Then we should pay some interest,” Leia acknowledged.

Valdez turned, but hesitated. He turned back to her as she rose to her feet. “If there’s another mission to Dendraali… or to any other facility… I want to be on it.”

Leia smiled at him. “We need to get out of this situation first,” she reminded him, gently. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

oo0oo

Deputies Markus Fjeldssen and Gunter Åstielssen moved carefully along the wall of the anchorage, positioning themselves beneath the windows of Juta Torsaar’s warehouse. Markus keyed his comlink. “Boss, we’re in position.”

“Copied,” Ash confirmed. Drawing her sidearm, she nodded to Sig and Lenya then moved towards the door.

Stopping as she reached it, she checked that her Deputies were in position behind her, then glanced further back at Marek Vyre. He remained beside the speeder, where she had left him. Turning her attention back to the warehouse, she stood to the side of the door and pressed the release.

It slid open and she moved inside, staying close to the shelving unit that ran from the right hand side of the door, into the warehouse. It was filled, almost to the roof, with boxes and crates. Another stack of shelving, piled high with containers, stood ahead of her. Thin light filtered in from windows high in the far wall, blocked by the containers. She took another step forward as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. “Sheriff Bureau!” she called. “Zånder, it’s over. Give it up!”

When there was silence, she called out, “Derlin, I know you’ve got a lungful of Spores… You were coughing in the cells…”

Vyre observed the Sheriff and her Deputies through the open door. Intrigued, he moved forward, watching as the two Sheriff’s deputies carefully manoeuvred a crate on the right-hand shelf, removing it and pushing it sideways along the floor.

“With Spores in your lungs,” the Sheriff was calling, “you ain’t going to survive without medical aid. You’re going to drown in your own blood!”

The female Deputy crouched down, crawling through the space left by the removed crate. The remaining Deputy leaned in close to Svioisaar, speaking to her. The Sheriff nodded bringing her weapon up, inching forward, covering the Deputy as he disappeared from view into the bowels of the warehouse.

Vyre took another step as the Sheriff called, “Zånder, we know the truth! We know you told the Rebels to go to Per and Hetta’s place. Empire ain’t going to see it like that, though. Give it up, now, and we’ll see your grandparents safe from judgement.”

A blaster shot echoed, sizzling past Vyre. He felt the heat of it against his cheek and flinching away from it, dropping to the ground.

Ash moved, ducking forward into the cover of the crates ahead of her, pressing her back against them. “Zånder!” she called, seeing Vyre lying on the ground outside and taking a moment’s pleasure at the thought that Derlin might actually have hit him. “You’re surrounded. You won’t take us all down! Killing an Imperial Officer ain’t helped your chances none!” Dropping to one knee, she leaned out, bringing the weapon up to fire. Another blaster bolt missed her by inches, hitting the door behind her.

Lying on her belly on the far side of the crates, Lenya took careful aim at Derlin, and fired.

The blaster bolt hit the wall just above Derlin’s head. He dropped flat to the floor, then immediately regretted the movement. He’d discarded the dialysis unit when the filter had clogged, and he was feeling it in his lungs. He tried to take a breath, but it caught in his chest. He coughed it out.

The muzzle of a blaster rifle pressed into his neck. “Drop the weapon, Major!” Sig ordered, softly.

Taking slow, careful breaths, Derlin did as he was told.

“Hands behind your head” Sig ordered, kicking the blaster away across the floor, before calling, “Derlin’s secure! No sign of Zånder!”

As Ash began to turn, she saw Vyre pushing himself off the ground. Rolling her eyes in disappointment, she shook her head then moved towards Derlin and Sig.

Lenya climbed to her feet, following the Sheriff, making a show of keeping her weapon trained on the Rebel Major. Ash, however, holstered her sidearm. Reaching Sig and Derlin, she dropped to one knee. Derlin turned his head, looking at her. “Good try,” she told him, “but you missed Vyre…”

Derlin opened his mouth, but the coughing fit he had been trying to keep at bay finally took hold. Ash swore, reaching for him. “I’ll get the med kit!” Lenya announced, turning and running for the speeder. Sig also moved, dumping the blaster rifle on the floor to help Ash drag Derlin up and sit him against the wall. Ash pulled out her comlink. “Kaysix! Medical emergency! Derlin is secure. He’s in respiratory distress. Alert Specialist Karsaar! We’re bringing him in!”

“What’s going on?” Vyre asked from the door as the Deputy ran past him, hearing the Sheriff’s voice, but not having caught what she had said.

“Spores,” Lenya told him, not slowing down. “Derlin’s coughing.”

Vyre quirked an eyebrow. As long as Derlin wasn’t in imminent danger of dying, Vader would not be overly concerned about his exact medical condition. And the medical centre did have the specialist equipment to treat the Spores. Skywalker was already in one of the hyper-atmospheric chambers, receiving the treatment. Turning, Vyre moved inside the warehouse.

Derlin’s coughing fit deepened, and Ash frowned in concern. “It’ll pass,” she assured him. “Don’t fight it. Fighting makes it worse…”

“Sheriff!” Sig warned, softly. “The Colonel…”

Swearing silently, Ash rose to her feet, turning to look at Vyre as he walked towards them. “We have Derlin,” she reported, “But Zånder Olgenssen isn’t here.”

“Your subversive Deputy is your problem,” Vyre told her, giving her a pleasant smile. “I’m only interested in Derlin.” He pushed past her, looking down at the Rebel Major, who was having obvious difficulty breathing. “How badly is he affected by the Spores?”

“I ain’t no medic, Colonel,” Ash offered, hooking her thumbs into her belt in an appearance of nonchalance, “but he ain’t got no immunity, so they’ve taken hold fast. I’ve already alerted the medical centre. Once we get a respiratory mask on him, we’ll get him moved.” She tilted her head, “You’ve informed Lord Vader?”

“Not yet,” he told her, moving out of the way as Lenya arrived back with the respirator in her hand. She dropped to a knee, settling it over the Major’s nose and mouth before slipping the strap over his head. Then, together, she and Sig hauled Derlin to his feet.

Hands clasped behind his back, he watched the Rebel Major for a moment, hearing the man’s breathing ease. Derlin opened his eyes, lifting his head, returning the Colonel’s gaze.

Vyre smiled at him. “When I said, Major, that I would take great delight in watching you being put into a seclusion tank beside Skywalker, I hadn’t anticipated it being quite so soon…”

Cold, hard dread slammed through Derlin. With sickening dismay, he realised that he might have badly miscalculated the situation, completely misjudging both Vyre and Vader’s intent. This whole deception, of Ash and her people taking him into custody, had been to prove their loyalty, prove Vaaljajord’s loyalty, to the Empire, to save them from Alderaan’s fate. But the plan had been centred around him being taken to the medical centre, not a seclusion tank on the _Executor_.

It had never occurred to him that there might be a mindwipe facility aboard Vader’s Star Destroyer. If Vyre removed him from the Sheriff’s custody, if he was transferred to the Imperial ship… everything would be lost. At some point, during the mindwipe process, he would tell the Empire about the Sheriff, about Per and about the Vaaljajord Route.

Fear pushed him forward. He ripped free of the Deputies, barrelling into Vyre, knocking him to the ground, wrapping his hands around the Imperial Colonel’s throat.

Ash swore, starting to move… but the sound of a blaster shot pulled her up short. In the silence that followed, Derlin collapsed on top of Vyre, lying still.

Shock stabbed horror through Ash, but she forced herself to remain still. Sig and Lenya moved, however, taking hold of the Rebel Major and lifting him off of the Colonel. Vyre sat up.

“I thought you wanted him alive?” Ash demanded, fists clenched at her side.

“It was a stun shot,” Vyre supplied, lightly, as he climbed to his feet, and slid the side-arm back into the holster.

Ash took a slow, measured breath of relief. “Sorry, Colonel,” Sig apologised. “Should have had a tighter hold on him.”

Ash glanced at Sig then looked back at Vyre. “You okay?”

“It takes more than one piece of Rebel scum to intimidate me, Sheriff,” he told her, dusting himself down. Tugging his uniform jacket straight, he looked at her, imperiously. “Now that the situation is fully under control, you can escort the prisoner and myself to the medical centre.”

“Of course, Colonel,” Ash confirmed, turning back to Sig and Lenya. “Take him out to the speeder.”


	21. Mission Abort + 47hrs

_Mission Abort + 47hrs_

_08:00 - Malhördhem Local Time_

PLUGGED INTO THE ACCESS PORT in Specialist Traja Karsaar’s office, Artoo Detoo trilled softly in excitement, sending information to the Ceetoo unit at the medical centre’s reception desk, before unplugging and trundling towards the door. Whistling tunelessly, feigning nonchalance, Artoo turned into the corridor and headed for the concealed treatment area, where Lieutenant Hobbie Klivian was being hidden.

Three rooms away, Tarja shoved her comlink back into her pocket. Anticipation fluttering deep in her belly, she looked across at Colonel Marek Vyre, telling him, “Rebels just dropped out of hyperspace!” Then she turned her attention to the medical droid that rolled into the room. “Get Major Derlin ready to be moved.”

Vyre pushed himself out of the seat, tugging on his uniform jacket, a tight smile of expectancy on his lips. Giving one, last glance towards Derlin, he left Karsaar to deal with the Rebel Major and headed out of the room, moving down the corridor towards the hyper-atmospheric chambers. There were Stormtroopers standing guard at the door. He ignored them, sweeping past them, striding across to the chamber where the object of his new assignment was confined.

“Commander Skywalker?” he began.

The Rebel turned his head, opening his eyes to look at him.

Vyre made a show of glancing at the door before stepping closer, telling the Rebel, “Listen carefully, Skywalker! A Rebel attack force has just dropped out of hyperspace in an obvious attempt to rescue your sorry carcase. And as much as it might surprise you, I’m going to help them rescue you.” He glanced across at the stormtroopers, again, before continuing, “My career is over because of this debacle! And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be reassigned to some backwater pissing-ground while the Lord Darth Vader profits from selling enemies of the Empire to bounty hunters!”

He stopped, checking the stormtroopers for a third time, then told Skywalker, “I have the Dendraali information that you missed on your download! And you’re going to help me get it to the Rebel Alliance!”

Luke understood everything. He knew exactly what Vyre was trying to do. He also knew he had his own part to play in the charade… but the analgesic medication had left him light-headed. The false earnestness in Vyre’s voice, and the fact that he was offering the exact information they had been trying to access on Dendraali: it was all just a little too surreal.

Laughter bubbled up in his chest. He giggled. Then giggled some more.

Vyre opened his mouth… and the lights in the medical centre went out, leaving the windowless room illuminated only by the still-running medical equipment. No emergency lighting came on. Vyre drew his sidearm. Shots rang out in the hallway and Vyre turned, anticipation fluttering deep in his belly. There was shadowed movement at the door as the Stormtroopers moved, then returned fire... More shots rang out. There was the sound of a scuffle... then silence.

“Colonel Vyre!” Tarja Karsaar’s voice called. “Don’t shoot. I need to check on Skywalker!”

“You need to get Skywalker out of this contraption before Vader sends reinforcements!” Vyre called back.

The bright light of a torch burst into life from the doorway, blinding him. “Unless they’re already on their way,” a voice informed him, “there’s going to be a small problem with that… Drop the weapon!”

“You have nothing to…” Vyre began, realising that there must be Rebel special forces with Karsaar.

“Drop the weapon!” the voice interrupted, more forcefully. “On your knees! Hands on your head!”

Vyre sank carefully into a crouch, putting the blaster pistol on the floor… but then he rose slowly back to his feet, telling them, “I have information you need! I came here to help Skywalker escape!”

“I don’t care if you’re the right hand of Vader with the codes to his personal shuttle! Get on your knees and put your hands on your head!”

“I’d do as she says,” Skywalker giggled. “Or your pristine white jacket’s going to be decorated with a big, black, blaster burn…”

Vyre glanced towards him. In the dimly-lit hyper-atmospheric chamber, Skywalker smirked back at him.

“Last warning!” the voice ordered. “On your knees! NOW!”

Reticently, admitting that Skywalker had a valid point, Vyre lifted his hands, clasping them on top of his head before sinking to the floor. There was a rustle of movement. Shadowed figures moved into the room. The emergency lights finally flickered into existence, illuminating three, black-garbed, Rebel soldiers. The muzzles of their blasters were aimed at his chest. Tarja Karsaar appeared from behind them, rushing towards Skywalker.

Vyre glanced up at the medical specialist as she checked the data on the screen of the hyper-atmospheric chamber.

“Going dark,” one of the soldiers announced, reading data from a pad attached to his sleeve, “in three… two… one…”

Vyre quirked an eyebrow. It made sense for the Rebels to jam Imperial communications, but Vader’s troops would already be on the move.

“Charge deployed,” the soldier continued. “Malhördhem’s in black out.” Shielded from the blast, the medical centre’s emergency lighting remained on.

“The stormtroopers will already have raised the alarm!” Vyre warned. “They’re not local garrison. They’re Vader’s troops. From the _Executor_!”

Cara Dune took a step towards him, blaster rifle firmly aimed at his rank insignia. “Name!” she demanded. She knew who he was. She had heard Tarja call his name. She recognised his voice. But she had to be sure.

“Vyre,” he supplied, looking at her, recognising her as one of the elusive Rebels from Derlin’s team. “Marek. Colonel.”

Despite the fact that Dune had been almost sure of his identity, anger flared at the confirmation. This was the man who had murdered Dav Raimik and Vedrik Basun. This was also the man she was under strict orders not to kill. She pulled binders from her pocket with one hand, the rifle still pointing unwaveringly at his insignia. Tossing them on the floor in front of him, she ordered, “Put them on!”

“I came here to help Skywalker!” Vyre protested. “I have information the Alliance wants!”

Dune snorted in derision. “Of course you do… Binders! Now!”

Speaking slowly and deliberately, Vyre warned, “We need to get out of here! You might be jamming Imperial frequencies, but the stormtroopers you attacked, here, will have reported your presence. Vader will already have dispatched troops!”

“Oh, we’ve done a little more than jam communications!” Sergeant Meleen Arisii assured him, watching the medical specialist work.

Dune grinned at him, coldly, supplying simply, “Magflux charge…” She took a half-step forward, repeating, “Binders! Now!

Vyre considered the information as he dropped his hands and picked up the restraints from the floor. A magflux charge would have rendered any unshielded equipment useless, including transportation, droids and communications. Without the ability to communicate, even Vader’s troops would be floundering in temporary confusion. _Inspired,_ he admitted, grudgingly. _Risky, but inspired._

Arisii moved closer to Tarja Karsaar. “How long until we can move?”

“A few more minutes,” Tarja supplied.

Arisii nodded, then turned her attention back to Vyre. “Well, Colonel, that gives you just enough time to divulge that really important information you want to trade for the lack of a blaster bolt to the head!”

oo0oo

Riding off the shuttle’s right flank, Zev Senesca followed the ship down through the planet’s atmosphere towards Malhördhem. Anxiety curdled in his stomach. Without his gauntlets, he knew his palms would be slick with sweat. The last time he had flown into the mêlée, he’d been in a TIE fighter, trying to shoot down the pilots currently flying with him. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath against the small voice in the back of his mind.

_Only the Galactic Empire can safeguard a safe and secure society. To ensure security and continued stability, the Rebel Alliance must be hunted down and defeated..._

His astromech droid trilled at him, breaking through the liturgy. Startled, Zev sucked in a lungful of air as reality reasserted itself. Information flashed onto the data screen and Zev read it, acknowledging, “Thanks, Arfive!” before toggling the transmit switch and announcing, “Daemor Leader, the bombers have cleared the atmosphere, heading for hyperspace.”

“Copied, Daemor Two,” Janson confirmed. “Keep it steady!” he warned the pilots. “And keep your eyes open!”

“There’s no chatter,” Ulla Poole supplied, flying off the shuttle’s left flank. “All frequencies are quiet… No, wait…” she went on, checking the data on her scopes. “We’ve got an emergency beacon... Civilian,” she confirmed with a grin. “Law enforcement frequency…”

“Copied!” Janson acknowledged, sending a quiet word of thanks to the resistance personnel who had promised to trigger the beacon at the Malhördhem Sheriff’s Bureau. He locked on to it, checking the data on the flight computer. “Five minutes to target!”

“Skies above us are still clear,” Zev Senesca offered. He lifted his attention away from the scopes, finding reassurance in searching the azure-tinted firmament with his own eyes.

“All Imperial frequencies remain silent,” Poole confirmed.

Janson allowed himself a small, tight smile of satisfaction. Not that he was stupid enough to count his kurzac before they hatched… but this whole thing might just go to plan…

oo0oo

“Your Highness,” Threepio told Leia, “Artoo Detoo reports that the Stormtroopers within the medical facility have been neutralised. Lieutenant Klivian and Major Derlin are stable. Colonel Vyre has been secured. And Specialist Karsaar has begun the decompression of the hyper-atmospheric chamber. However,” Threepio went on, "the Sheriff’s droid reports that stormtroopers are moving on foot towards the medical facility… and Lord Vader is with them. They appear to have been unhindered by the magflux charge…”

“Tell Artoo!” Leia ordered. “The strike teams need to know!”

“Yes, your Highness,” Threepio confirmed, moving back to the communications unit.

Leia turned, biting the inside of her lip. Farr recognised the look on her face and warned, “There’s nothing more we can do here, Ma’am. Our job is to get Antilles to safety.”

Leia knew that. Her head told her that she needed to give the order to leave… but with Vader moving towards the medical centre and Luke still trapped in the hyper-atmospheric chamber, her inability to help the situation jarred at her. She had thought she had prepared herself for it. She had made herself believe that she could follow the plan without question. Now, however, in the stark reality of the situation… things were different.

She had run on Hoth. She had run on Bespin. Vader had won both times. Luke had barely survived, and Han might yet be dead.

She hesitated.

“Seems a shame to waste the blaster cannons on this thing,” a voice rasped from behind her.

Leia turned. Wedge Antilles leant against the bulkhead by the door. Leia had the distinct impression that he needed the support to keep him upright. Bacta dressings covered the bruising on his face, but the discolouration on his neck, where the Stormtrooper had choked him, was turning a dark, ugly purple.

“What do you mean?” Shawn Valdez asked.

“Your orders are to get me to safety,” Wedge supplied, “but we could make a slight detour…”

“Detour?” Valdez frowned. “I don’t follow…”

“The Empire think you’re bounty hunters, working for them. That’s more valuable than getting me out,” Wedge told them. “We need to preserve that capability. We can use it to intercept more bounty hunters who really **are** working for the Empire.” He paused, taking a breath before continuing, “We need to join this fight. And on the Imperial side…”

“Commander,” Valdez began, but Wedge interrupted, “On Hoth, in the crossfire, some of our speeders were taken out by the Rebel defence.”

Leia finally understood where Wedge was going. In the heat of battle, _friendly_ -fire could do just as much damage as the enemy attack. A cold smile pulled at her lips. “We make a show of attacking the rescue ships.”

“With really, really bad aim,” Wedge confirmed, “and hit Vader and his troops instead.”

Toryn Farr looked from Wedge, to the Princess, and back. Antilles had a point. She turned. “I’ll take the belly gun.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” Valdez tried.

“It’s a good plan,” Leia countered.

“It’s nowhere near a good plan!” Valdez objected. He pointed upward, reminding her, “Those inbound X-wings don’t know we’re friendly!”

“Which will just make it more convincing!” Leia told him. “And, we have an advantage…” She looked at Wedge Antilles. There was only one person Leia trusted to fly the ship under these conditions. Even injured, Wedge was a better pilot than either herself or Shawn Valdez. “We have one of the best squadron Commanders in the Rebel Alliance… As long as he’s fit to fly?”

“Always, Ma’am,” Wedge confirmed, pushing himself off the bulkhead.

“The flight deck is yours,” she told him, turning back to Shawn Valdez. “Are you manning the upper gun? Or am I?”

“This,” Valdez warned, “for the record, is insane!” Then he sighed, knowing he had lost the argument, finishing, “But I’ll man the gun…”

Leia flashed him a rare, and dazzling, smile, assuring him, “Your objections will be noted in my report, Captain.”

He sighed again, unable to prevent the smile that pulled at his own lips. “You’re enjoying this way too much!” he accused. As he started to turn, he saw Antilles falter and reach out to steady himself against the bulkhead. “Just make sure you catch Antilles if he passes out, your Highness!”

oo0oo

Sheriff Ashtor Svioisaar looked around the Deputies assembled in the main office. The atmosphere was charged with anxious anticipation. Ash took a breath then began, “I ain’t one for speeches. Never seen the need…but I ain’t never been at war before. And that’s what this is: a war. A war between our due process of justice, and the Empire’s martial principles. Lawbreaking has to have consequences… but unsanctioned executions ain’t right, nor proper.”

She paused for a moment before continuing, “This Bureau’s been divided since the Empire took control of Vaaljajord, but it ain’t no more. You’ve all put aside your political beliefs and come together, to stand straight and uphold the oath we took to serve justice without prejudice. And to maintain integrity, equality and honesty in fulfilling our duties...”

She looked around the Deputies, glancing across at Kaysix, telling them all, “And I ain’t ever been this honoured to be your Sheriff.”

The Deputies grinned at her, buoyed by the praise, glancing at each other in mutual respect. Ash couldn’t allow them time to bask in it, however. “Rebel ships are only a few minutes out. And,” she warned, “we need to tread careful. Our duty is to protect the folks of not just Malhördhem, but Vaaljajord. The Rebels have gone some of the way to helping with that, but we need to take it forward. The Imperial troops need to see us working shoulder-to-shoulder with them. The minute we step foot outside this building, we abide by the Imperial assertion that Rebels are terrorists! If that means firing on them, then that’s what we got to do. Everyone understand?”

The Deputies nodded, murmuring their ascent.

“Sheriff Svioisaar?”

Ash turned, “Kaysix?”

“Incoming transmission from the _Freedom Shade_ ,” the droid told her, “The orbiting star destroyer is under attack from Rebel forces, and several ships are descending through the atmosphere towards Malhördhem. The bounty hunters are launching to intercept and engage. They have been unable to advise Lord Vader.”

“Engage?” Sig looked from Kaysix to Ash.

“It’s what bounty hunters loyal to Vader would do,” Lenya offered.

Ash interrupted any further discussion, reinforcing the loyal-Imperial-servant concept by announcing, “Listen up! In addition to a sector-wide blackout of any tech not shielded, we now have probable confirmation of Rebel attack, so we do this by the book! Kaysix, acknowledge the _Freedom Shade_ ’s transmission. Tell them we’re coordinating on the ground. Then initiate the emergency cascade. Cite terrorist insurgence!”

That would put the medical centre, the fire jumpers, and the Mayor’s office on alert. The Sheriff Bureau’s headquarters in Ranveig would also be notified. “Then try to get the same message to that star destroyer,” she went on. “Most of the Ranveig garrison are already here, and blind.”

“As ordered, Sheriff,” the droid confirmed.

“Erika, stay here! You’re our eyes and ears. Warn Mayor Gunnistsaar that there could be fighting in the streets. Tell her to stay put, but keep her informed.”

“On it, Boss!” the Deputy confirmed.

“Sig, Lenya, Gunter: leave through the back. Make your way towards the rear of the medical centre. Then stay put until my order. If you run into stormtroopers, take the lead. You’ve got communications: they don’t. That gives you authority. Make them stay with you.”

The three Deputies were already moving to get their gear as they called acknowledgement.

“You’re with me, Markus!” she ordered, before warning everyone, “Stay alert! And keep your heads down! I don’t need to be training new Deputies! You all caused me enough trouble!”

oo0oo

Still on his knees, wrists now in binders behind his back, Colonel Marek Vyre watched as the pressurisation light on the hyper-atmospheric chamber switched from blinking red to steady green. The door of the chamber released, clunking outward before sliding aside.

“Don’t try to move,” Tarja warned Skywalker before drawing the gurney out of the chamber, “or you’ll undo all my good work!” Behind her, two medical droids rolled into the room, one pushing a mobility chair.

A comlink chirped and a voice announced, “Two stormtrooper squads moving in towards the back!”

“Copied,” Ariisi confirmed. “Hold the line! We’ll be moving shortly!”

“I warned you that you were dealing with Vader’s troops!” Vyre reminded her.

“You’re operating under the misapprehension that we’re worried,” Cara Dune derided.

“How long?” Ariisi asked Tarja.

“He’s almost disconnected from the chamber,” the medical specialist supplied. “Just need to get him into the chair. Luke,” she went on, putting a respiration mask over his nose and mouth, “the droids are going to lift you. Don’t try to help. Just let them do the work. And it could be uncomfortable. But if I give you any more pains meds, you won’t be lucid…”

“It’ll be okay,” he confirmed, trusting her implicitly.

There was an atmosphere of anticipation and expectancy, from the soldiers. They were calm but vigilant, ready to fight. Luke drew strength from it, pushing aside the small nag of doubt that fluttered deep in his belly. It was only a whisper, an echo of the misgiving he’d sensed on Dagobah and then again, on Bespin… but he recognised it. It was the aura of the Dark Side. He might still have to rely on others, but the Force was returning to him. He was no longer completely helpless in the face of Vader.

The droids lifted him. He groaned in discomfort, pain flaring through him.

“Breathe!” he heard Tarja order.

Ariisi turned, looking at Vyre, ordering, “On your feet, Colonel.” She keyed her comlink as he rose from the floor. “ _Sandstorm_ is secure and ready for evac!” she confirmed.

“Copied,” Sergeant Comdhail’s voice replied before supplying, “ _Fortitude_ and _Statesman_ are secure and prepped.”

 _Sandstorm_ was the allocated mission tag for Skywalker. _Fortitude_ was Hobbie. _Statesman_ was Derlin.

Ariisi turned, looking at Cara Dune. “Vyre’s your responsibility. Keep him alive, if you can.”

Dune nodded, attention never leaving Vyre. She give him a cold smile, “After you, Colonel.”

Tarj Karsaar had informed them that Vyre knew of the plans to hide the Rebels within the facility and that Vader intended to take both Wedge and Hobbie into custody. In the face of that, the mission parameters had been rapidly redefined. They could no longer risk leaving any of the Rebels in the medical centre. Derlin, Hobbie and Skywalker were all being evacuated on the shuttle with the Rebel strike teams. Ariisi’s team were running escort, while Comdhail’s team would lay down covering fire before pulling out to the shuttle.

However, the crew of the shuttle weren’t yet aware of the last-minute change of plan. They’d be advised when they made contact, which would be very shortly.

“We’re evac-ing to the front door,” Ariisi told Comdhail. She turned, ordering, “Okay, people, move it out!”

oo0oo

“Aurek, this is Daemor. Do you copy?”

Janson waited for a few seconds then, with no reply, tried again. “Aurek, this is Daemor. Do you copy?”

“Daemor,” a voice replied, “This is Aurek. Tactical redeploy! I say again, tactical redeploy! Statesman, Sandstorm, Fortitude evac-ing with Aurek! I repeat: Statesman, Sandstorm, Fortitude evac-ing with Aurek! Over!”

Janson swore softly, recognising the code names and knowing what it meant. Whatever was going on, the original plan had been shelved and he was now going to have to bring everyone out. He checked the data screen then toggled the com switch, acknowledging, “We’ll make room, Aurek. We’re three minutes out.”

“Roger, Daemor,” the voice confirmed, before warning, “We have buckets at the back door.”

“Copied, Aurek,” Janson confirmed. Stormtroopers were closing in on the rear entrance of the medical centre. “Daemor Two,” he ordered, “close off that back door! Daemor Four, keep the front door open! Take those stormtroopers down!”

“Daemor Leader,” Ulla Poole warned, before she or Zev could acknowledge the order, “we have incoming! Intercept course from the surface!”

“I see it!” Zev confirmed.

Janson swore, again, ordering “Evasive manoeuvres! Daemor Four, stay with me! Daemor Two, get down there and keep that front door open!”

“Copied!” Zev acknowledged, pouring on the power and surging away from the shuttle towards the surface, his wingman close behind. The gnawing anxiety that had swept through him earlier had gone, replaced by the familiar shiver of expectancy and trepidation that always tightened in his chest before going into battle. It grounded him, giving him focus.

In that moment, the last vestiges of Imperial indoctrination vanished. He smiled, remembering exactly who he was. His astromech droid threw data onto the screen and he read it, frowning. “Arfive, where did this come from?”

More data appeared on the screen. Zev grinned, keying the com switch, “Daemor Four, do you have new intel?”

“Affirm!” Ulla’s voice confirmed, and Zev could hear the smile in her tone. “Daemor Leader,” she went on, “route direct to the landing point! We’re following Daemor Two down!”

Janson frowned as the two fighters accelerated away from the shuttle. “What the hells…”

“Incoming data from the surface,” the K-2 unit sitting beside him at the controls, offered. “It’s a message, Sir. It says, _Endurance is camouflaged. He’ll try not to hit you_.”

A slow smile tugged at Janson’s lips. “Well…. I’ll be…”

“I do not understand, Sir,” the droid began. “Is _Endurance_ not the mission tag for Commander Antilles?”

“Yes, it is,” Janson grinned. “And it means that he’s flying the ship that’s heading towards us! Or he’s manning the guns… and I hope to gods he’s flying, because his aim is gods-awful!”

oo0oo

“Lord Vader!”

Vader glanced behind but kept walking as Sheriff Svioisaar jogged towards him, another Deputy tight on her heels.

“My Lord, the bounty hunters have launched to intercept a small group of ships heading towards us. And I have coms with my Deputies. Sig reports three squads of Stormtroopers moving towards the rear entrance of the medical centre, and taking fire. He’s with one of your squad commanders. And Specialist Karsaar reported Rebel ground troops in the medical centre. She reports troopers down, but requests that no Imperial forces enter the facility, to prevent patient fatalities.”

Vader considered that for a moment, not breaking stride, still moving towards the medical centre. He could hear the blaster fire and, in the distance, he could hear the _Freedom Shade_ taking off.

He knew that the _Executor_ was under attack from Rebel ships. Piett had been able to advise him of that before communications had been severed. Instinct told him that the inbound ships were Rebel, and a diversionary attack to cover Luke being concealed within the medical facility. If he allowed his troops to enter the centre, it would expose his son to further injury. “The squads are to remain outside the facility,” he confirmed, “preventing any Rebel escape!”

As the Sheriff relayed his orders, the muted whine of engines reached him. He looked up, but the sky was covered in a layer of thick cloud, obscuring the ships from view. He kept walking. “Commander Corl!”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Position your troops in front of the medical centre. Prevent any ships from landing, but I want the Rebels within the medical centre taken alive!”

“Yes, Sir!” Corl replied, issuing orders to the troopers, who moved to obey.

“Lord Vader,” Ash began, listening to Erica’s voice in her earpiece. “The _Freedom Shade_ has engaged four X-wings and a shuttle…” She paused then went on, “And the _Executor_ reports that they are taking heavy fire from multiple Rebel ships which are preventing TIE reinforcements from...”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out as two X-wings burst through the cloud, screaming overhead, the _Freedom Shade_ close behind, firing on the Rebel ships. Blaster fire ricocheted along the street. Ash swore, ducking instinctively. She turned, watching the ships streak away towards the anchorage before pulling back up into the cloud, again. There was a muffled thwump from the direction of the anchorage and black smoke began to pour skyward. An emergency alarm wailed into existence.

Ash glanced at Markus then turned back towards Vader. Two Stormtroopers lay motionless on the street ahead, but the rest of the troopers continued towards the medical centre: as did Vader.

Another pair of Rebel fighters dropped beneath the cloud, strafing the street, ignoring the blaster fire that erupted towards them from the Imperial troops. Ash grabbed Markus, dragging him towards the relative cover of a building doorway. Then she took off, running after Vader, staying close to the wall, Markus at her back.

Two X-wings appeared again, the _Freedom Shade_ close on their tails. The fighters rocked and twisted, firing on the Imperial troops while staying neatly out of the way of the both the _Freedom Shade’s_ guns and the stormtroopers’ aim. Blaster fire spattered off the ground, kicking up debris. More stormtroopers went down.

“Gods damn it!” Ash cursed. “I did not sign up for this!”

But she knew she had. She just hadn’t envisioned the fight against the Empire turning into this close an engagement on the streets of Malhördhem.

Then, ahead of her, an X-wing emerged from the cloud, descended vertically. It slowed, hovering about eighty feet from the ground, firing on the Imperial troops. Behind it, a shuttle appeared, manoeuvring and landing on the street outside of the medical centre.

Still running, Ash pulled her sidearm from her holster, aiming in the direction of the hovering X-wing, and firing. On the ground, the shuttle ramp lowered.

Blaster fire streamed towards both ships. Then there was a dull thud, and smoke began billowing from one of the X-wing’s engines. It wobbled in the air. Ahead of her, Vader finally halted in his stride towards the medical centre, looking up at it. Ash skidded to a halt, heart in her mouth, knowing that if the engine exploded, or if the X-wing fell out of the sky, the shuttle behind was too close not to take damage.

oo0oo

Janson swore, leaning over the flight console to peer up at Zev Senesca’s fighter. Smoke poured from the starboard wing and for a long moment the T-65 hung precariously in the air. Then Zev’s voice, calm and controlled, announced, “Daemor Leader, Daemor Two, losing vertical stability. I can’t hold position. I’m pulling out.”

Before Janson could answer, Zev’s wingman announced, “Daemor Two, I’ve got it covered! Daemor Leader, I’m on your six!”

“Copied,” Janson confirmed, watching for a moment longer as Senesca’s X-wing lumbered forward, still firing, then pulled up into the cloud. “Aurek!” he ordered into his comlink, turning and heading for the ramp. “Get a move on!”

“Copied,” Ariisi confirmed, turning to look at Tarja Karsaar and Skywalker. “Time to go,” she told them. “You ready?”

Fear lurched in Tarja’s belly, tightening in her chest… but she nodded, telling the Rebel Sergeant. “I’m ready.”

“Ready,” Skywalker confirmed from the chair.

Luke turned his attention to the shuttle, pushing down the growing sense of dread as he looked out across the twenty feet of empty space between it and the medical centre. The shuttle was taking fire, but an X-wing hovered behind and above it, returning the Imperial barrage.

“You follow us out!” Ariisi told Tarja. “You head for that shuttle and you don’t stop!”

Cara Dune grasped Vyre’s arm pressing the muzzle of her rifle into his neck, just below his ear, warning, “You best not stop, either, Colonel.”

Before he could answer, Ariisi moved out of the door, the rest of her squad at her heels. They fanned out, dropping to their knees and firing towards the Imperial troops.

Tarja took a deep breath… and ran, guiding the chair ahead of her.

Luke saw Wes Janson appear from inside the shuttle. And then he heard a voice calling his name. Deep and resonant, it echoed through his head, stabbing fear deep inside of him. He took a breath, his gaze pulled to the dark figure of Vader… and everything seemed to slow to half speed.

Vader took a step forward, lightsabre igniting. Behind him, a woman in a sand-coloured uniform drew her aim away from the hovering X-wing, towards Janson. Behind her, another squad of Stormtroopers began to emerge from around the far corner of the medical centre.

There were too many of them…

A deep thrum of heat began to expand through Luke’s feet. He recognised it, remembering the frantic incapacitation it threatened, and it galvanised him into action. If he didn’t move to stop the stormtroopers, to stop Vader, then everything would be lost…

The Force was still distant to him, but it was there. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, focussing on the insubstantial presence of the Force, trying to block out the heat that spread up his legs. The Force coalesced, threading around him. Luke sensed the Rebel personnel: wraith-like in mist. He sensed the dark shadow of Vader. He sensed the shaded haze of the Stormtroopers beyond. He couldn’t see individuals… but it was enough.

He moved, turning out of the chair and coming to his feet. Attention on the cold, ominous, shade of the Imperial troops, he was only vaguely aware of the pain that washed outward from deep inside him, displacing the heat in his legs. He was aware of movement to his left as Hobbie’s gurney was pushed out of the medical centre, Derlin and Artoo appearing behind them. He was aware of movement to his right as Tarja Kaarsar slid to a halt and turned towards him.

He took a deep breath, drawing on the tendrils of the Force. Then he threw out his hands, pushing out through the Force towards the assembled Imperial troops.

Shoving Vyre ahead of her, Cara Dune watched in stunned disbelief as the stormtroopers lifted in a wave of white armour, flying backwards through the air. The Sheriff and her Deputy were pushed back, into the wall of the medical centre, tumbling to the ground. Vader stumbled backwards, but stayed upright, lightsabre still held ready.

For a long moment, as the Stormtroopers crashed to the ground behind him, Vader studied his son. There was no hate, no fear, no malice. The boy was not embraced by the Dark side of the Force. Instead he was bathed in the Light. He was not lashing out in vengeance: he was protecting the Rebels in complete disregard for his own safety.

Even as the realisation formed, the echoes of his son’s agony whispered through the Force. Vader watched the strength drain away; watched as Luke crumpled. He watched as Karsaar and a Rebel soldier moved, reaching his son before he hit the ground, catching him.

Vader took another step forward.

Dune saw Skywalker collapse. At the edge of her vision she saw the black shape of Vader move. She pushed Vyre hard, sending him stumbling forwards, yelling, “Run!” as she swung her blaster rifle towards Vader, taking aim.

The blaster bolt hit Vader high in the chest, knocking him backwards onto the pavement. He landed hard, and lay for a moment, stunned by the impact. The respirator unit pushed breath into his lungs. He reached out through the Force, trying to sense anything of his son. Rolling onto his side, pushing himself up onto his knees, he looked towards the shuttle.

Karsaar and the soldier had hooked their arms beneath Luke’s and were dragging him backwards up the ramp of the shuttle. Vyre had also reached the shuttle. Three other Rebel soldiers followed, one pushing a gurney, another protecting the third with his body. More Rebels were emerged from the facility, firing towards him. A blaster bolt sizzled past his head and he flowed to his feet, ignited his lightsaber again, intercepting the bolts, sending them back towards the Rebels.

Cara Dune’s training as a soldier over-rode her surprise at seeing Vader wielding the weapon. She’d heard stories about him, but had never believed them. Still firing at Vader, she saw the downed stormtroopers behind him started climbing to their feet.

_Close! This was going to be too damned close!_

Something hit her, hard, in the chest, lifting her off her feet, dumping her on her back. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, pain exploding through her head. She lay, unable to breath. Then she was being dragged from the ground. Instinct kicked back in and she lifted her blaster rifle, firing again in Vader’s direction, aware only of the red blur of light from the weapon standing out against the black of his clothing.

Vader strode towards the shuttle. The last of the Rebels reached the ramp, two of them dragging a third between them. The ramp began to close.

X-Wings screamed overhead, guns spitting covering fire. The shuttle lifted and turned, climbing away into the clouds. The remaining, lone X-wing hovered a moment longer, dipping its nose, almost as if in salute. And then it, too, rose upward to disappear into the cloud.


	22. Mission Abort + 47hrs

_Mission Abort + 47hrs_

_08:25 - Malhördhem Local Time_

The astromech droid mewled a warning, throwing data onto the screen. Zev Senesca read it, swearing softly. “Okay, Arfive. Shut it down before it blows. How badly are the S-foils damaged?” he asked, before keying his transmit switch. “Daemor Leader… Daemor Two. I’ve lost both right-side engines. Lightspeed is operational, but…”

He paused as he read the data Arfive put up on the screen, “My S-foils are damaged. They won’t lock shut for hyperspace… and…” He swore, silently, his stomach lurching, anxiety settling uncomfortably in his chest. “Arfive reckons they won’t survive the hyperspace transition.”

“We can see your smoke trail from here,” Janson’s voice confirmed.

“Daemor Two,” another, more cultured voice put in, “ _Endurance_ requests details of your minimum airspeed and vertical manoeuvrability.”

The anxiety abated. “Standby!” Zev answered. _Endurance_ was the mission code for Wedge Antilles. He was flying one of the other Rebel ships, and if he was asking specific questions, it meant he had a plan. “What can we give them, Arfive?”

The little droid burbled, delivering the requested information. Zev swore, again, then keyed the mic. “If we slow up, we’ll have nothing.”

There was a moment’s silence, then the cultured voice announced, “Cut left and bang out.”

Zev hesitated. Cold, hard fear flipped through his stomach. Memories of Hoth crawled up his spine. He shook his head, swallowing hard. _There had to be another way_ …

“Daemor Two,” the voice ordered, again, “cut left and bang out. Acknowledge! We’ll catch you.”

Taking a long, slow breath, Zev ignored his racing heart and the slight tremor in his hands. “Okay, Arfive,” he ordered, “set the autopilot for after we eject: straight and level.” He ripped the protective pin from the ejecting mechanism, arming the seat. The straps tightened around his legs. “Cut left on my mark! And stay with me! Banging out in five… four… three… two…”

The canopy blew upwards, away from the fighter. The rush of the wind stole his breath, then he was being pressed into his seat, groaning in discomfort as the ejection mechanism launched the chair upwards. It hung for a moment, gravity beginning to take hold. Then the thrusters kicked in, stabilising the seat, allowing Zev to take a breath. He looked around, searching for the ship that Wedge was flying.

For long, terrible moments there was nothing. The seat descended slowly towards the white tendrils of cloud.

And then, the ship was there, its bulk looming over the top of him. He laughed and punched the air, relief shoving through him. The ship pulled away, turning and moving under him. Slowly, he descended towards it, grinning like a mad man.

The seat touched the upper side of the ship, settling slowly, the thrusters cutting out as the ejection straps released around his legs. In front of him, a head appeared from a hatch. Still grinning, Zev dropped to his knees, crawling across the ship towards the hatch, not trusting his legs. Reaching it, he sat on the edge, swinging his legs in. Lifting his arm, he keyed his compad. “Arfive? Where are you? Damn it, did you lose me?”

A soft nudge against his back pulled his attention around and he grinned at the astromech droid, patting its dome. “Okay, so you didn’t lose me!”

He slid into the hatch, climbing down the ladder. A young man in a sand-coloured uniform nodded in greeting as he reached the bottom. “How do. You got your droid?”

“He’s just coming in,” Zev confirmed, stabbing a thumb upward before pulling off his flight helmet.

Zånder Olgenssen nodded, then turned, yelling, “We got them!”

oo0oo

Wedge pulled up, turning tight and heading after the damaged T-65. “We need to go after Zev’s bird. If it goes down in the forest, the whole place might burn.”

Leia nodded in agreement, checking the sensors. “It’s… point three four… about four thousand feet above us. Threepio,” she went on, “tell the Sheriff that the pilot of the damaged fighter has ejected and that we’ve picked him up.”

“But,” Threepio began, “Your Highness… Are you entirely sure that…”

“The Sheriff and Deputies would have seen the ship being damaged,” Leia interrupted. “They’ll have one less thing to worry about if they know the pilot’s safe.”

“Oh!” Threepio acknowledged, finally understanding. “Oh, yes. Of course. I shall let the Sheriff know immediately.”

“I see it!” Wedge announced. Leia turned back, looking out, unable to miss the black smoke that trailed behind the fighter from its damaged engines. She keyed the intercom. “Valdez, Farr! T-65 at point three four. We need to take it down.”

“Copied,” Valdez confirmed. “Tracking it now.”

Wedge manoeuvred the ship closer to the T-65. The medication he’d been given was beginning to wear off. Nausea was starting to curdle through his stomach. His ribs and shoulder ached, and the pain in his throat and face was beginning to intensify. He knew he wouldn’t be fit to fly much longer.

Blaster fire lanced out towards the crippled X-wing. There was a burst of orange-purple flame, and then the fighter blew itself apart.

“Think they’ll give me a new one?” a voice asked from the door of the flight deck.

Leia turned, smiling at the wistful expression on Zev Senesca’s face. “Under the circumstances, Lieutenant,” she assured him, “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Good to see you.”

Wedge set up a descent, following the pieces of wreckage towards the surface. Some of it was still smoking. “Can we find out where this stuff is going to hit the ground?”

“On it,” Leia confirmed. “Threepio, let the Sheriff know that a Rebel fighter has been destroyed, and that the debris is on the ground… in the area of these coordinates…”

Wedge pulled the nose up and turned the freighter, heading after the sensor echoes of the other Rebel ships. He turned to look at Zev, but the movement left him dizzy, adding to the mounting nausea. He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. “Zev…”

Opening his eyes, Wedge focussed on Senesca. “You need to fly us out.”

“Sure,” Zev agreed, concern flaring as he saw how pale Wedge’s skin was against the bacta dressings. Small beads of perspiration dusted his forehead.

“Commander…” the Princess began. Then she swore as his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped sideways out of the chair. She moved, half catching him, breaking his fall.

Zånder Olgenssen pushed past Zev. “S’cuse, Lieutenant. Let me help you there, your Highness.” He knelt beside her, sliding his arms beneath Wedge’s. Clasping his hands around the pilot’s chest, he pushed up onto his feet, lifting Wedge against him before moving carefully backward, pulling the unconscious pilot with him.

Zev stood back, giving the Deputy room to manoeuvre. Then he moved into the flight deck, glancing back at Wedge, before sliding into the left-hand seat as Leia began to brief him.

oo0oo

“My Lord,” Ash Svioisaar offered, “the _Freedom Shade_ reports that they have destroyed the damaged Rebel fighter and apprehended the pilot when he ejected. They’re heading after the other Rebel ships.”

Vader stood for a long moment, saying nothing. The escape had not gone as planned. Luke was safely out of Palpatine’s influence, accompanied by the medical specialist and Vyre… but Vader was sure that the man being shielded during the break for the Rebel ship, was Derlin. Just as he was sure that the gurney had carried the Rebel pilot cut free of the carcass of the crashed Dendraali vessel.

Granted, Antilles was still in the hands of the bounty hunters, and they also had a new prisoner to hand over to Palpatine… but without Derlin, the two Rebel pilots would do little curb the anger Vader knew he would face.

It was possible that he could persuade the Emperor that the pilots might be a useful snare to draw Luke to him, just as the Princess and the smuggler had brought the boy to Bespin. He would have to manoeuvre cautiously… but it might be enough if he could construct his explanation carefully enough.

“Inform the bounty hunters to break off their pursuit of the Rebels and route to the _Executor_ ,” Vader ordered. “I will speak to them on my arrival!”

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Ash confirmed.

“Commander Corl!”

Ash pulled out her com unit, relaying the instructions to Kaysix as the Stormtrooper Commander jogged across to Vader.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Search the medical centre! Bring any Rebels you find, to me! I want them alive!”

“Yes, my Lord,” Corl confirmed.

“Lord Vader,” Ash began, “my Deputies know the medical centre, and still have communications. They would be of assistance to the Commander’s troops.”

Vader considered that for a moment, then nodded, “Agreed!” He turned his back on her, striding away. Ash looked at Markus, who nodded and fell into step with the Stormtrooper Commander as he moved towards the door of the facility.

“Gunter! Lenya!” Ash ordered into her comlink, “Lord Vader wants the medical centre searched. Markus is bringing troops through the front. Take the squads you’re with! Take them in through the back. Any Rebels you find, Lord Vader wants them alive and unharmed! Sig,” she went on, not waiting for an acknowledgement, “get your butt around here!”

Ash looked after Vader’s retreating form, taking a deep breath. The wind was picking up again, bringing with it more rain. Vader’s cloak whipped around him, billowing and twisting. Thick, black smoke rolled up from the anchorage. The sound of sirens told her that the Fire Jumpers were already mobilising. She let the breath out slowly, lifting her face to the cool fall of rain.

It was over. The Rebels were gone.

 _No_ , she remembered with a twinge of anger, _not all of them_. There were still two Rebel soldiers lying in body bags in the town hall. And she had promised the Princess Leia they would be given the funeral rights, and the respect, they were due. Vyre’s people had taken charge of the other Rebels’ bodies. They could also be honoured, but funeral rights were a faint hope.

Another thought occurred to her and she swore, lifting her comlink. “Kaysix, patch me through to the Mayor’s office.” Shielded, the magflux charge shouldn’t have affected the emergency lines there.

“Yes, Sheriff,” Kaysix confirmed before offering, “Sheriff, the _Freedom Shade_ has supplied coordinates for where they believe the debris from a Rebel fighter will fall. It is on the edge of the forest. I have alerted the Fire Jumpers in the adjoining sector.”

“Good work,” Ash told the droid. Despite the recent rain, the forest would still be tinder-dry and the Malhördhem Jumpers already had their hands full with the fire burning in the anchorage.

“Sheriff, I have Mayor Gunnistsaar,” Kaysix advised. Another voice cut in over the comlink. “Sheriff? Where are you? And what in the name of the gods is going on?”

“I’m at the medical centre,” Ash told her. “The Rebel attack has been repelled but we should keep the town locked down, for the moment. All non-emergency communications are down, including Imperial coms. We have injured Imperial troops in the streets. The anchorage has been attacked. My Deputies still have their hands full… and… I’m initiating the emergency medical protocol. Specialist Karsaar has been abducted...”

There was silence for a moment. Then Agnessa Gunnistsaar told her, “Understood, Sheriff. We have word from Chief Ulafssen. The blaze at the anchorage is being tackled, and looks to be confined there. What damage is there to the medical centre?”

“I’ll have more information once the Imperials have finished their sweep,” Ash supplied. “They’re searching the medical centre for Rebels, but I reckon they’ll come up empty. I’ll stay here until they finish the sweep then make my way back to the Bureau.”

“Understood, Sheriff,” Gunnistsaar confirmed. “Keep me up to date.”

oo0oo

Luke burned on the edge of consciousness, fighting to breathe against the pain that crushed through his chest and stabbed out towards his arms. Someone was calling his name, insistent, demanding he pay attention. He opened his eyes. The pain expanded and he cried out, drowning in intensity of it.

_Luke!_

_…Father…_

Reality fragmented into almost-familiar darkness. The agony receded. Luke groaned, softly.

_Son, come with me. Your destiny lies with me._

“No…”

_The Force is with you… I will complete your training. Come with me… we can end this destructive conflict…_

_If you choose Vader, you will become an agent of evil…_

_Fear… easier, more seductive…_

“No...” A smothering lethargy settled around him. Luke fought it, latching on to the Jedi Master’s gentle warning.

_Luminous beings are we. You must feel the Force… Passive… Calm…_

Luke dragged in a shuddering breath.

 _It is you the Emperor wants. You must complete the training_ …

_I will complete your training…_

“No…”

 _Passive…_ Yoda’s words warned, serene and reassuring. _Calm… Control…_

The pervasive influence of the dark side of the Force retreated and, with it, the lure of the Dark Lord of the Sith. The loss left Luke drained… and yearning to touch the presence again.

_Ben… Why didn’t you tell me?_

“…given you something for the pain, Luke. It will make you more comfortable.”

Taking another, far calmer breath, Luke found his gaze focussing on the metal roof above him. The surface beneath him thrummed gently. He frowned. “Did… did we… make it?”

Tarja leaned over him, smiling down at him. “Yes, we made it. But you,” she accused, “are determined to undo all my good work! Now will you lie still, or do I need to sedate you?”

“I’ll lie still,” he assured her, anxiety sparking at the thought of being helpless again.

“Medic?” Derlin’s voice called.

Tarja looked away for a moment, towards the Major. Then she looked back down at Skywalker, warning, “Lie still!”

“Artoo and I will make sure he does as he’s told,” Gelnara assured her, dropping to his knees beside the little droid, who mewled softly in agreement. Tarja nodded at him, and then at the droid, giving Skywalker a last glance before rising to her feet.

oo0oo

Colonel Marek Vyre sat against the bulkhead, where he’d settled himself as they had lifted from Malhördhem. The restraints dug into his wrists but he refused to move to ease the discomfort. None of the Rebels appeared to be paying any attention to him, but he had a suspicion that the moment he moved he’d end up looking at the muzzle of several blasters. Post-action, these undisciplined seditionists might prove somewhat trigger-happy. So he stayed still.

Tarja Karsaar had moved away from Skywalker, making her way towards the small huddle of terrorists around Derlin and Dune.

Two of them had carried Dune in, setting her down gently against the far bulkhead. Vyre hadn’t missed the blaster mark on her armour, or the fact that she had appeared to lapse into unconscious as the ship climbed away from Malhördhem. He quashed a smile of irony at the possibility that she might have survived Dendraali, might had survived the ship crashing, might have evaded capture… only to die in the very engagement that should have taken her to safety.

He’d had limited pleasure of her company. It was a shame she had evaded arrest, he considered. He would have enjoyed spending time with her in an interrogation chamber, crushing her self-assuredness. But, if Vader’s strategy went to plan, he might yet have the pleasure of throwing her into a re-education chamber.

Tarja Karsaar ran the mediscanner across her, asking, “How long has she been unconscious?”

“Not long,” Derlin supplied. “She was conscious when they brought her in.”

Tarja pulled a small flashlight from a pocket, gently opening Dune’s eyelids to check her pupils. The slightly uneven dilation confirmed the information from the scanner. “The dialysis unit’s still working. There doesn’t appear to be any serious injury from the blaster shot,” Tarja told Derlin, “But she’s showing signs of concussion. There’s increased pressure in her skull.”

She handed him the mediscanner, telling him, “I need you to watch it carefully. If it continues to rise, I need to know. And if she comes around, I need to know.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he confirmed.

“Are you injured?” she asked, visually checking him over.

“I’m good,” he assured her. She checked the dialysis unit on his arm, just to be sure. Then she rose to her feet, turning back towards Skywalker. She paused, looking at Vyre. “Are you hurt?”

“I am uninjured,” he assured her.

Tarja nodded, then turned her attention to the Rebels. “Is anyone else injured?”

oo0oo

Tension fluttered in Wes Janson’s belly as the blue of the Valjajord atmosphere darkened into the black star-scape of space. The scopes were clear of enemy fighters, showing only his three, remaining X-wing escorts shadowing him. There had been no sign of TIE fighters in the atmosphere, either, which meant that diversionary attack on the Star Destroyer had worked. They weren’t out of the woods, yet, though, and with limited shields, he wouldn’t relax until the ship was safe in hyperspace.

“Lock in the jump coordinates,” he told the K-2 unit.

“Coordinates,” the droid confirmed, “set and locked.”

There was no need to relay the order to his T-65 escort. They had already been briefed and the moment he jumped, they would call off the diversionary attack and then follow him home.

A proximity alert sounded. Janson swore.

Ulla Poole’s sensors also warned of a ship climbing out of the atmosphere, gaining on them. Cursing, Poole keyed her transmit switch, ordering, “Daemor Three! Stay with the Leader! Daemor Four, with me!” Not waiting for a reply, she pulled her T-65 around in a tight turn, heading back down to intercept the approaching ship, S-foils opening into attack profile. It was unlikely that the approaching ship would be able to reach Janson before the ship jumped, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Daemor squadron,” a voice crackled over the frequency, “by order of the Galactic Empire you will desist and return to the surface. Desist now, or be shot down!”

“Yeah,” Poole muttered to herself, pouring on the power “Like either’s a good option!” Her attack computer locked target and she started firing. Answering blaster fire flew up to meet her.

But… something felt off...

While her fire hit home, the blaster bolts from the incoming ship skimmed past harmlessly above and below her T-65. The voice crackled over the frequency, again. “Desist and return to the surface Daemor squadron, or you will be shot down. Your endurance is pointless!”

Endurance.

Poole sucked in a deep breath of realisation. _Endurance_ was Antilles code tag. The approaching ship was the one Antilles was flying! She pulled tightly out of the dive, grunting softly as the g-forces pushed her into her seat. Keying her mic, she ordered, “Daemor Four! Run for the jump point! We’ve bought them enough time!”

“Copied, Daemor Two!” her wingman confirmed, following her around and shadowing her as they flew back towards the edge of the Valjajord atmosphere, S-foils closing. Blaster fire skimmed around them.

The sky darkened once more into the star-scape of space. Ulla keyed her mic, ordering, “All wings! All wings! Break! Break! Break!”

Her droid burbled at her, sending information to her screen, confirming that the jump coordinates were set and locked. “All wings!” she transmitted, again, “Break! Break! Break! Get the hells out of here!”

And then the star-scape ahead of her fragmented into the luminescent corridor of hyperspace.

oo0oo

Arm around Hetta’s shoulders, holding her close, Per Alvessen looked up at the black smoke billowing into the sky from the anchorage. The wind had picked up, again, and the clouds threatened more rain. Hetta also watched the smoke, her thoughts on their granddaughter… and the grandson who had just followed into the service of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

“How do?” a voice greeted.

They both turned, looking at Sheriff Ashtor Svioisaar as she crossed the road towards them.

“They got away?” Hetta asked.

“Damn shame. Every single one of them,” Ash confirmed. “Just had word that they cleared the atmosphere and jumped out. Looks like the bounty hunters went after them, though.”

She saw the relief wash across the older couple’s faces, and went on, “Warrant’s been cancelled on you, and on Chief Ulafssen. Figured it was difficult to see why the Empire would want to arrest the Chief, with him leading the attempt to save the troop carriers the Rebels missed. Shocking aim, those Rebels… Almost as bad as Deputy Markus…”

“Zånder…” Per began.

“Now, don’t you get fractious about that boy!” Ash interrupted. “He had me fooled too. Of course, he’ll have covered his tracks and I doubt I’ll be able to find any evidence of his sedition… but we’ve issued a warrant, and we’ll tackle the matter of evidence when we have him in custody… If we ever have him in custody…”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Hetta told her, “Thank you.”

Ash turned, looking at them, discarding her role of Sheriff in favour of Malhördhem resistance fighter. “With your permission, the Valjajord route should go to ground for a time.”

“Ash,” Per began, “I…” He trailed off, unable to find the words to explain everything that turned around in his mind. So much had happened. So much had changed.

“You,” Ash reminded him, “held a blaster rifle to the head of a Rebel Alliance Major because he put our safety over the lives of his soldiers and refused to let Tarja treat them.”

“That was my wife,” Per contradicted, turning his head to kiss Hetta’s hair, “not me.”

“Which only proves she’s as crazy as you, old man!” Ash grinned, winking at Hetta.

“Who’s crazier?” Per admonished gently. “The old man, or the folks turning to him for guidance?”

Ash crossed her arms, laughing softly. “Yeah…” she admitted, “but we’re a special kind of crazy.”

Hetta shook her head, leaning into Per, hugging him tight for a moment before letting him go and looking up at him. “Ash is right. The route needs to quiet down for a time.”

Per nodded, “Agreed.”

“Malhördhem’s been plastered all over the media streams, in the same breath as the Valjajord Route,” Ash warned. “We could have folks streaming in from all over. My Deputies are with us. We’ll do what we can to protect those that are legit... but…” She took a deep breath, letting it out in a soft sigh, “Guess we’ll fell that tree when we come to it...”

Her comlink chirped and she dug it out of her pocket, answering, “Svioisaar.”

“Sheriff,” Kaysix informed her, “Major Azhlyn has arrived from the Ranveig garrison. He requests your presence.”

“Copied, Kaysix. I’m on my way.” Tucking the comlink back into her pocket, she told Per and Hetta, “Best stay here, with Valda. He might want to talk to you.”

“We’ll get our story straight,” Hetta assured her.

A smile tugged at Ash’s lips. “Don’t get it too straight, Ma’am. It all happened so fast, after all. And you were scared half out of your wits,” she reminded, before turning and heading towards the jailhouse.

oo0oo

The shuttle lifted, climbing into the Valjajord atmosphere. Vader knelt on the floor, seeking the clarity and solace of meditation. No Rebels had been found in the medical centre. Derlin had escaped. Palpatine would not be pleased. But Luke had been rescued. The boy would be safe from Palpatine’s influence as he recovered from the debilitating effects of the Force Trauma.

His recovery had already begun.

Vader’s thoughts flowed back to Luke, standing outside the medical facility. Pride swelled, and he quashed it, drawing on his hate to screen it, conscious that Palpatine might sense the emotions through the Force.

Teetering on the verge of collapse, his son had stood firm. Despite the agony from his injuries, there had been no malice in his actions, no fear. No hate. His son had not been wrapped in the power of the Dark Side of the Force… he had been immersed in Light. He had swept the Imperial troops aside, but there had been no vengeance. Instead, there had been the selfless desire to protect his friends.

_The Jedi are selfless… They care only about others…_

Anger surged. Obi-Wan had not cared about Padme. Obi-Wan had not cared about him. Kenobi had used Padme, manipulating her, knowing that she would compelled by her concern to find him. Then Kenobi had done nothing but retrieve the fallen lightsabre and walk away, leaving him to die in flames.

One master had betrayed him. _I hate you!_

The Force vision had warned that another Master might also betray him, casting him aside in favour of his son. _Fulfil your destiny and take your Father’s place at my side!_

Luke would finish his training, but not as a Jedi. Nor would he stand at Palpatine’s side. Instead, father and son would stand together, finally bringing peace to the galactic empire.

“My Lord?”

Vader lifted his head, looking at the shuttle pilot.

“My Lord, Admiral Piett reports that the Rebels have broken off their attack on the _Executor_ and escaped into hyperspace. He also reports that they were unable to intercept a ship which lifted from Valjajord. However, the ship, and its fighter escort were harried by a second ship, which also lifted from Valjajord. There was a brief skirmish before all five jumped into hyperspace.”

Vader’s gut twisted in irritation. The bounty hunters had obviously not received the order to go to the _Executor_. Or, perhaps they had, but had run shy of the Rebel fighters attacking the Star Destroyer. Either way, he would now have to return to Palpatine empty-handed.

Except for Vyre and Karsaar: now placed within the Rebel Alliance. That alone, however, would not assuage Palpatine’s ire. Not unless he could persuade the Emperor of the validity of the vision the Force had given him on route to Valjajord.

_Young fool! Only now, at the end, will you begin to understand! Everything that has transpired has done so to my design. The woman who, so diligently, nursed you back to health is not a Rebel sympathiser: she is a loyal, Imperial agent._

“Tell Admiral Piett that we return to Coruscant,” Vader ordered. “I will give my report to the Emperor in person.”

oo0oo

Ashtor Svioisaar hit the privacy lock for her office door and turned her attention to the ISB Colonel sitting on the other side of her desk.

“I have wanted to meet you for some time, Sheriff,” he told her. “Tarja Karsaar speaks very highly of you.”

Ash frowned, then told him, carefully, “Colonel, I regret to inform you that your probationer just left Malhördhem on a ship full of terrorists after they shot up half the town and blew up the anchorage. Forgive me, but I don’t think that her speaking highly of me is a glowing testimonial!”

“Ah,” Azhlyn begin, sitting back in his seat and steepling his fingers, “but that is where you are wrong, Sheriff.”

“Colonel,” Ash countered, “I saw it with my own eyes, standing right next to Lord Vader.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that she left on that ship,” Azhlyn agreed, “but all is not as it appears.”

Ash sighed, rubbing a hand across her face, “Colonel, it has been a long, few days. I ain’t following you …”

“Sheriff,” he began, “am I correct in assuming that you have signed a judicial non-disclosure protocol?”

“I have,” she confirmed.

“Then, what I am about to tell you is classified, and effective under that protocol. Do you understand?”

“I do…”

“Medical Specialist Tarja Karsaar is an Imperial security agent who was assigned to Malhördhem to investigate the Valjajord Route,” he supplied. “The occasions you brought her to the garrison, was to allow my personal debrief of her. Her reports were comprehensive and, as I said, she spoke very highly of both you and the Malhördhem Sheriff Bureau.”

Ash said nothing, simply looking at him, wondering why she was being made privy to classified Imperial information.

“Specialist Karsaar has been reassigned,” Azhlyn went on, “hence her departure from Malhördhem with Colonel Vyre. All of which leaves me with somewhat of a situation.”

“And that situation,” Ash asked, “is?”

“Despite our best efforts,” Azhlyn explained, “certain media streams reported Malhördhem’s apparent involvement with the Valjajord Route. That will most certainly result in increased footfall from the seditionists and malcontents drawn to the Rebellion. I, however, am left without the means to detain these people, or prevent the Rebel terrorists from taking advantage. After the events of the last few days, any agent I assigned to Malhördhem would be too obvious to be effective. And leaving a discernible, increased Imperial presence here will simply drive the Valjajord Route to one of the cities.”

“I see your dilemma,” Ash told him.

“So,” Azhlyn went on, sitting forward, “I propose a closer relationship between my office and the Malhördhem Sheriff Bureau. You would, of course, work completely autonomously, but you would report directly to me. You would continue to operate as you always have, but report all potential Rebel sympathisers to me.”

“Colonel,” Ash began, wondering if this was some sort of ruse to trap her into making a mistake and betraying everything, “I missed a rebel sympathiser in my own ranks.”

“Indeed,” Azhlyn agreed. “And that was most unfortunate, but both Specialist Karsaar and Lord Vader have confirmed that you were thwarted in your attempt to arrest the man once he had been identified.”

Still unsure of the turn of events, Ash told him, “There was somewhat of a… misunderstanding.”

“And what of this Per Alvessen?” Azhlyn asked.

“I ain’t had a chance to question him…” Ash evaded.

“But you have cancelled his arrest warrant,” Azhlyn suppled. “And that of Fire Chief Ulafssen.”

Ash swore silently, realising her mistake. Too late.

She took a breath. “Chief Ulafssen is currently with his fire jumpers at the anchorage, tackling the blaze the Rebels left behind. And he also walked into the Mayor’s office as soon as he heard about the warrant. I reckoned that, were he guilty of sedition, he’d have left on that ship with Specialist Karsaar. As for Per Alvessen,” she went on, “he ain’t ever struck me as political. He ain’t ever given his opinion an anything beyond the nurturing and farming of trees. But,” she finished, “I’ll re-issue the arrest warrants.”

“No need,” Azhlyn assured her. “Specialist Karsaar intimated something very similar about Alvessen, so I trust your judgement. Bring them in, question them. Give me a report that will satisfy my superiors, and the matter will be at an end.”

Ash looked at him, unable to stop the surprise washing across her face. Azhlyn looked back at her. “You seem somewhat perturbed, Sheriff.”

Ash had no answer. She didn’t trust herself to answer, afraid that she might say something that would unravel the whole situation.

“I assure you,” Azhlyn informed her, “I am not Colonel Vyre. There are other ways of getting to the truth besides beating it out of people.”

“I…” Ash began. “I…”

She took a deep breath, then told him. “I think we’d best discuss this further. Can I offer you some kaffin?”


	23. Mission Abort + 87hrs

_Mission Abort + 87hrs_

_08:25 - Malhördhem Local Time_

The Lord Darth Vader moved down the shuttle ramp and stepped onto the duracreet of the landing platform. Four, crimson-robed guards marched towards him. They stopped as they reached him. “Lord Vader,” one of them informed him, “the Emperor commands your presence!”

“Understood,” Vader replied, taking a step forward.

The guard moved to intercept him. Holding out a gloved hand, she demanded, “Your lightsaber, Lord Vader.”

Beneath the obsidian mask, Vader’s jaw tightened.

Palpatine’s displeasure at the events on Vaaljajord was even deeper than he had estimated. Knowing he had no choice, he unclipped the lightsaber from his belt, handing it to the Imperial guard. She took it, stepping aside to let him through. As he walked towards the landing platform exit, the guards closed in around him, matching his stride.

They had not informed him that he was being taken into custody, but their intent was clear. He was on insecure ground. Trepidation coiled within him, and he grasped hold of it, weaving it with layers of anger, hatred and duty.

He had been ordered to return to Coruscant with Derlin, Luke and the two Rebel pilots. He had returned with none of them.

Everything was now at risk. The months of tight control, knowing that Palpatine was searching for the slightest indication of Anakin Skywalker being drawn back from the Dark Side. The years of careful planning and strategy. The anticipation of embracing his son and finally revealing the full potential of the Skywalker birth right.

All he could do, now, was persuade the Emperor of the validity of the vision the Dark Side had given him on the journey to Vaaljajord. He had been standing in the same room where he had pledged his loyalty to Palpatine. Luke had been trapped against the vast window, close to exhaustion, swaying on his feet… and Palpatine had delivered the final, devastating blow.

 _“_ _Everything that has transpired has done so to my design_ _…_ _You came here to kill me, expecting to find me alone, expecting Lord Vader to be on the Sanctuary Moon?_ _It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator on the Sanctuary Mo_ _on._ _Your friends walked into a trap, as did your Rebel fleet! Even now I am waiting to hear from Admiral Piett and Moff Jerjerrod, confirming the destruction of the Rebels. Very soon, Mothma, Organa and the rest of the Rebels' seditious leaders will be brought here in chains!"_

Another, older vision reared up to taunt him with another potential reality: of Luke looming over him, eyes blazing hate. _Fulfil your destiny! Strike him down with all your hatred and take your Father’s place at my side!”_

The vision that had warned him of the consequences should he prevent Luke escaping at Bespin. If he had caught Luke, if he had dragged his son back onto the platform, the Emperor’s influence would have driven Luke into a rabid obedience. The son would have become the instrument of the father’s death. He would not allow Palpatine to manipulate Luke as he had been manipulated: lies and half-truths woven into a web of deceit that had driven him into subservience.

The doors to Palpatine’s audience chamber opened ahead of them and the guards escorted him inside. They stopped just inside the door but Vader continued forward, moving to the centre of the room, sinking to a knee, lowering his head in supplication.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Vader heard soft footfalls on the carpeted floor as the woman who had taken his lightsaber moved past him.

“His weapon, my Emperor,” she announced.

“Leave us!” Palpatine commanded.

Vader stayed on his knee, head bowed, as the guards turned as one and left the chamber.

“Lord Vader!”

Palpatine’s ire flowed from the words. “Master,” Vader acknowledged, keeping his head down.

“You arrive alone.”

“Yes, Master.”

“The Rebels are still on your ship, then?”

“Master…” Vader began.

“Were my orders not explicit?”

Vader waited a full two breaths, and then began, “Master…”

“Do not think that I am moved by your display of loyal deference, Lord Vader!” Palpatine interrupted. “You think to cover your seditious actions by fawning on the floor?”

Vader lifted his head, looking at the Sith master, knowing that everything was lost. But still he tried, “Master…”

“Stand!” Palpatine ordered.

“Master,” Vader pushed, rising to his feet, “I had a vision…”

“Of the Skywalker whelp: here, in this very chamber?” Palpatine cut in. “Of his attempt to assassinate my person, believing you to be on the Sanctuary Moon?”

Vader dropped his head. “Yes, Master.”

Palpatine flowed to his feet, walking towards him. “So you took it upon yourself to allow him to escape? You took it upon yourself to send the medical specialist with him? You took it upon yourself to undermine our intention to use Galen Derlin’s son, and Skywalker?”

“Master…” Vader tried.

“The stench of your arrogance pulses from you!” Palpatine accused, his anger filling the room, wrapping around Vader. “You desire Skywalker for yourself! In your misplaced vanity, you believe that you can instruct him better than I in the ways of the Dark Side of the Force!”

Vader said nothing, knowing there was no point in denying it. Despite everything, his control had not been complete. His feelings had betrayed him to the Emperor.

“You forget your place!”

Vader closed his eyes, staying still as Palpatine moved around him. “You forget that it was I who came to you on Mustafar when the Jedi left you to burn!” Palpatine accused. “You forget that it was I who gathered your broken body and took you to safety! You forget that it was I who cared for your wounds! That it was I who gave you life!”

Something hit Vader, hard, in the back. Agony flared. He cried out, looking down at the blade of his own lightsabre, protruding from his chest.

“I gave you all this,” Palpatine hissed in his ear, “and you reward me with betrayal!”

Stepping back, Palpatine pulled the blade free, swinging it in an arc, slicing through Vader’s legs. The dark lord fell, landing on his side, agony bursting through him. Palpatine shoved him onto his back with a foot, bringing the lightsabre down, the tip hovering over the hand Anakin Skywalker had lost to Dooku. The respirator unit pushed even, measured air into Vader’s lungs.

“Everything I have given you, is mine! To do with as I deem fit!” Palpatine warned, voice dangerously quiet. “It can be taken as easily as it was given!”

He extinguished the lightsabre blade, dropping the weapon on the floor at Vader’s side. Then he turned away. “How easily you neglect your oath, Lord Vader: to do whatever I asked of you! You neglect your pledge of devotion to my teachings! You neglect your pledge to dedicate yourself to the ways of the Sith!”

He turned back, looking down at his apprentice. “You were asked to deliver Derlin; to deliver Skywalker and his Rebel friends! Anakin Skywalker’s son would have rejoiced in the Dark Side, equalled only by his Father! I foresaw it! Together you would have swept aside the Rebel betrayal. There would have been no hesitation, no mercy! Mothma’s malcontent rabble would have perished before any attempt to muster and deploy their fleet to Endor! Together you would have returned peace to the galaxy in my name!”

He paused for a moment. Then, voice light and dangerous, he reproached, “Instead, you return only duplicity…”

Taking a step back, tone cold and hard once more, he warned, “You will remember your place, Lord Vader! I told you that no mercy could be shown to the Jedi. I told you that their betrayal would be dealt with… So will it be with you!”

A blast of Force lightening flashed out from Palpatine’s fingers.

Vader arched against the scalding agony, helpless against the sheer power of Palpatine’s anger. For long, interminable moments, every fibre of his being burned in the ferocity of it. The intricate wiring of his helmet disintegrated, leaving him in scorching darkness, screaming in silence. The respirator unit stuttered, refusing to give him oxygen. Oblivion danced at the edge of his consciousness, promising release.

But Palpatine thwarted it. The onslaught ceased. The damaged respirator wheezed back into life, struggling to fill his lungs. He lay blind and helpless, after-images of anguish twitching through his muscles.

Palpatine turned away. “Guards!”

Behind him, the doors opened and the four, red-robed soldiers marched back into the chamber.

“Lord Vader is unwell,” Palpatine told them, walking slowly towards the vast picture window. “Remove him! Escort him to Mustafar. See that his injuries are tended to, and protect him until I arrive.”

oo0oo

The Princess Leia Organa followed Palo Torshan into the interview room. The last time she had encountered Colonel Marek Vyre, she had been disguised as a bounty hunter, so she knew he would have no knowledge of her presence on Vaaljajord, even if he recognised her from Imperial files.

Sergeants Ariisi and Comdhail had guarded the Imperial Colonel as medical teams rushed in and then the rescue shuttle had emptied of personnel. Then they had stood guard for another hour as Rieekan, Torshan and Leia had discussed what to do with him. Finally, he’d been escorted to a detention cell and left in isolation for almost a day.

Now, after fully debriefing Derlin and Antilles, Leia and Torshan were ready to interview the Colonel.

Vyre lifted his head, looking at them as they sat down opposite him. Torshan sat back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, watching Vyre, saying nothing. Leia put a data pad on the table and kept her attention on it. “You are Colonel Marek Vyre,” she began. “Graduate of the Corulag academy. Posted to the Ranveig garrison on Vaaljajord after the Empire took direct control of planetary affairs.”

“That’s correct,” he confirmed.

“Your presence in Malhördhem was the result of an Alliance to Restore the Republic ship crashing near the town.”

“It was.”

Leia paused for a moment. Attention still on the datapad, she asked, “How did you know about the presence of the Rebel Alliance personnel in the Malhördhem medical facility?”

“It was a lucky find,” Vyre supplied.

Leia lifted her gaze, looking at him. “Not so lucky for the Rebel Alliance personnel.”

“Two of them were subsequently murdered,” Torshan commented, softly.

“And two more were physically assaulted,” Leia added.

“All at your hands,” Torshan finished.

Vyre looked from Torshan to Leia, choosing his words carefully. “I was an Imperial officer doing my duty in the service of the Galactic Empire.”

Leia looked back down at the datapad, “And yet, little more than thirty hours later, you have thrown your lot in with the Alliance Restore the Republic?”

Vyre took a breath, recounting his carefully rehearsed cover story. “I had little choice. Losing Derlin lost me my military career. The Emperor has a personal interest in Derlin. The fact that he was subsequently re-arrested made no difference. I had already been recalled to Corsucant. So, when your obvious rescue mission dropped out of hyperspace, I knew that the whole Vaaljajord debacle would get hung around my neck!” He made a soft sound of derision, “I served to ensure a safe and secure galactic empire, not to be assigned to garbage duty. Meanwhile, Vader is profiting from selling Rebel personnel to bounty hunters!”

Leia gave him a flat look. “Ensuring a safe and secure galactic empire? Tell me, Colonel, how is a safe and secure society served by torturing a man with a life-threatening condition?”

“I went to that medical centre to get Skywalker out!” Vyre evaded. “And Derlin, if I could. I was going to help them get to your people! Ask your soldiers! Ask Dune!”

“And you brought apparently important information with you, to seal the deal?” Leia clarified.

“Yes,” Vyre confirmed. “The data download from the Dendraali facility was incomplete. So I secured the rest of the information you were looking for.”

“You were misinformed,” Leia told him, softly.

Vyre looked at her, wondering what game she was playing. “What?”

“You were misinformed,” Leia repeated. “We have the complete file. We have every name, we have every reassignment, and we have the location of every single facility.” She gave him a cold smile, “Is there anything else you have to offer, Colonel?”

Vyre sat, trying to gauge if she was lying, or if his leverage really had faded into nothing. There was only one thing more he could offer, but he was wary of offering it too soon.

As the silence stretched, Leia clasped her hands in front of her. “Colonel Marek Vyre, you are charged with two counts of murder, two counts of grievous bodily harm, and one charge of assault on Rebel Alliance personnel. You will be held in isolation until a military court can be convened. You will be appointed an advocate, or you may defend yourself, in which case you will be given access to appropriate military judicial documentation.”

She paused for a moment, giving him time for that to sink in, and then she asked, “Do you understand?”

Vyre said nothing, but the spark of hatred in his eyes told her that he did. Leia smiled, rising to her feet. Beside her, Torshan also stood up. Lifting her datapad, Leia told Vyre, “Have a pleasant afternoon, Colonel.”

“Mace Windu.”

Leia and Torshan stopped, looking at him. Vyre looked from one to the other then told them, “You don’t have the complete list. Two names were never included. They were deemed too politically sensitive. One is Mace Windu.”

“And the other?” Torshan asked.

Vyre smiled at them. “That one you only get with solid reassurances that I’m not going to end up standing against a wall in front of an execution squad.” He leant forward, continuing, “I know you don’t like me. I know you don’t trust me. I know some of your people are going to have issues with me walking the same corridors as them. But I am an asset.”

He sat back making a small sound of disgust, offering, “And I’d rather be watching my back here, than on some dead-end, outer rim backwater where dung bugs are a delicacy!”

Leia considered Vyre’s words for a long moment. She recognised the name, Mace Windu, although she couldn’t remember how she knew it. There was something about it though… Something that made her think about her Father... And she had the sudden, unsettling feeling that the second name Vyre was withholding was his.

Which somehow made sense considering the story Vyre was trying to spin. Trusting her gut feeling, giving Vyre a bright smile, she assured him, “If you identify the facilities in which Mace Windu and Senator Bail Organa are being detained, we might reconsider.”

Vyre almost managed to hide the look of surprise, but Leia saw it. Emotion rose up, threatening to swamp her. She swallowed it down, pushing it away until she could afford herself the luxury of exploring it. “Until then,” she continued, “you will be held in isolation. If we require any additional information, we’ll let you know.”

She turned, heading for the door. “Have a pleasant afternoon, Colonel.”

oo0oo

Luke drifted in comfortable warmth. Conversation buzzed quietly at the edge of his consciousness. It was familiar, reassuring. There was something else, though. Something he couldn’t quite work out. In the calm, relaxed atmosphere that surrounded him, however, he simply accepted it. He could think about it later. Right now, he was content simply to drift.

_Never his mind on where he was..._

Luke sighed, softly, knowing that he could no longer drift. There were things he needed to do. He had made a promise, and he had avoided keeping it for too long. He had to go back to Dagobah, and Yoda.

And, suddenly, he realised what was different. The tight knot of grief and irritation that had coiled within him every time he had thought of the Jedi Master since Bespin, was gone. He was at peace.

_When you are calm… passive… A Jedi uses the Force for defence, never for attack…_

And finally, Yoda’s words made sense. Finally, Luke understood. The epiphany astounded him.

When the ship had been falling through the Vaaljajord atmosphere, when he had used the Force to slow the descent, there had been no fear, no frustration. He had been mesmerised by the vibrant, luminous beauty of the living energy within the looming trees.

And, when he had gathered the Force during their escape from Vaaljajord, there had been no malice, no ill-intent towards the Imperial troops, or to his Father. His focus had been solely on protecting Derlin and the others, on defending them.

Now that he could see it, it was so obvious. And yet he had struggled so hard to understand it on Dagobah.

And, now that he finally understood, he also realised why neither Ben nor Yoda had divulged the true fate of his Father. The encounter at Bespin would have played out so differently. Because he would still have gone. Nothing Yoda nor Ben could have said would have stopped him. The knowledge that Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader would have made him even more determined. And the emotions would have clouded his judgement.

_Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker. Obi-Wan knew this to be true!_

That statement would have been his undoing. Armed with the knowledge that Vader was his Father, the claim would have drawn him in. He would have hesitated, given it consideration, if only because it presented an opportunity save his Father from the Dark Side…

Save his Father?

Luke’s head spun. When had that become a consideration? In the months of grief-stricken, hollow emptiness that he had tried to fill by volunteering for mission after mission after Bespin… when had saving his Father become a consideration?

Vaaljajord, he realised. It had been on Vaaljajord. When he had faced his Father, as he had collapsed into Tarja Kaarsar’s arms, there had been a surge of pride… from Vader…

And, suddenly, everything began to make sense. He hadn’t been able to work out why his Father had let him fall at Bespin. Vader could simply have reached out through the Force and dragged him back. In his misery, in his anguish, he had felt but hadn’t identified the emotion. On Vaaljajord, it had been there again, though. A wash of pride.

And if there was pride… was there also still love?

Reeling at the enormity of the possibility, Luke opened his eyes. If Anakin had become Vader, could Anakin be brought back to the Light? Was it possible?

He had to go back to Dagobah. He had to find out. He had to ask Yoda, and Ben.

_I do not want to fight you, Father…_

“So, you’re finally awake?”

Luke turned his head. “Major,” he greeted.

Derlin returned the smile, sinking into the chair at his bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I have in a long while,” he told the Major.

“You had us worried,” Derlin admitted. “I wasn’t sure we were going to get you out of that coma…”

“Specialist Karsaar does some fine work,” Luke smiled.

“That she does,” Derlin admitted. “And she assures me that you’re recovering well. Gelnara, too. Wedge and Dune will be out of the hyper-atmospheric chambers, soon. Hobbie’s on the mend. And he appears to have been able to fight off the spores. Which,” he went on with another grin, “has delighted our Malhördhem medical specialist. She has been studying his blood.”

A vague memory coalesced, from the time they had spent in the forester’s homestead. “Maybe,” Luke began, “that’s why he was flirting with Hetta…”

Derlin laughed, softly. “That and Hetta’s home cooking…” He shook his head, his smile fading. “Full of surprises, Hetta and Per… Had me fooled with their doddering, old folks act, that’s for sure.”

“Did they escape with us?”

“No,” Derlin supplied, “but the Sheriff is going to look out for them.”

“What about Vyre?” Luke asked.

“Oh, Colonel Vyre’s in for a nasty shock,” Derlin told him, mood growing darker. “I have it on good authority that he’s to be tried in front of a military court, for murder and assault.”

Luke nodded, sadness settling over him. “Well, at least we managed to bring back the information on the mind-wipe facilities.”

“Oh, Artoo’s done more than that,” Derlin told him. “Artoo made friends with the Sheriff Bureau’s droid, and has been able to get us access to all sorts of interesting information.”

Luke smiled, “He is incorrigible!”

“Artoo,” Derlin corrected, “is a valuable asset.” He paused for a moment then went on. “Luke… The Princess Leia asked me to tell you… We think we know where Han Solo is.”

Hope flared, anticipation tightening in his gut. “Where?” he asked.

“It appears that Boba Fett took him to Jabba the Hutt, after all…”

A flurry of emotion fluttered through Luke’s gut. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, quieting the feelings. Now that he understood the focus of the Jedi’s strength, he knew he could not allow emotions to cloud his judgement. He had to think calmly. He had to be at peace.

_You must complete the training..._

He would. He would keep his promise to Yoda and return to Dagobah. But first he would go to Tatooine.

No, he realised. There was something more important. Something he had to do before he could go to either Tatooine or Dagobah.

First he would hunt down a kyber crystal and build a new lightsaber. Then he would help rescue Han. And then he would return to Yoda.


End file.
